


Finding Strength

by twist_and_scream



Series: Learning As They Go [4]
Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: And Gil might like it, Biotic Ryder Twins, Don't Mess with the Ryder Twins, F/F, F/M, Jaal dislikes Reyes and Kadara, Kidnapping, Past Reyes/Ryder flirtation, Protective Siblings, Rescue Missions, Reyes Flirts With Gil, Reyes lends a hand, Ryder still isn't liked on Kadara, Scott Doesn't know the details of Sloane's downfall, Tempest Family Feels, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2018-10-26 05:23:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 50,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10780446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twist_and_scream/pseuds/twist_and_scream
Summary: After the chaos from Meridian calms down, Jaime and Scott Ryder are looking forward to getting some sibling bonding time and forgetting their troubles. Too eager, Jaime soon learns. The Pathfinder still has a number of enemies throughout the galaxy waiting to get their pound of flesh.Left Ryderless, the Tempest crew must find a way to rally and come to the twins rescue. Jaal would prefer never to set foot on Kadara again and looks forward to relying on Reyes Vidal even less. But desperate times call for desperate measures. With opposites allied, they have a chance.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Did anyone not flirt with Reyes, at least a teeny bit? My Ryder always does, because…duh, and some of the flirt responses are nicer/more amicable than the "plain" ones. So, there’s a note of past flirtation between Reyes and Ryder, but think ‘non-serious flirtation that stopped at Sloane’s party because kissing Reyes wasn’t worth risking Jaal’s romance’ (and I already knew Reyes' spoiler and didn't want a cave breakup).

“Gotta say, sis, I’m surprised you like this place,” Scott hopped out of the way of patrolling Collective guard as Ryder finished giving him the tour.

“You don’t?” Ryder pretended to be shocked as her brother tripped over the grated walkways of Kadara Port.

“Still deciding,” Scott admitted.

Taking in the garish lights, dirty streets, and shifting crowds of people looking for freedom and trouble in equal measure, Ryder felt a strange swell of affection for Kadara. The people had built something here without the Initiative’s approval or help and formed a motley community alongside the angara. With Sloane replaced, the streets were cleared of beatings and racketeering from the leadership, and legitimate merchants were opening shops alongside their seedier Kadaran counterparts.

Ryder’s triumph curdled at the thought of Sloane perched proudly on her throne. Ryder had long since gotten over the shock of Reyes coup; coldly calculated, it was how Kadara had always operated, survival of the fittest by brawn or brain. Ryder could imagine Sloane crushing Reyes just as coldly if she had found him first. At least Reyes had a lingering residue of decency to treat Ryder as a friendly ally, and show a shadow of shame for getting her involved. He’d even promised to keep his men on a tight leash from their more morbid habits of torture and imprisonment with Sloane neutralized. Ryder could convince herself that was enough. Better the Devil she knew and Evfra employed, she hoped.

“Hey!” Scott snapped his fingers in front of Jaime’s nose. “I asked ‘where can you get sloshed here?’”

“You were _just_ -“

“If you finish that with ‘in a coma,’ I’m staying here and emailing Lexi to let her know it’s your fault,” Scott threatened. “That was months ago! My liver needs a road test!”

“I’m telling Lexi you said _that_ ,” Ryder retorted.

“For all you know, she’ll appreciate my scientific method,” Scott insisted snootily. Ryder cocked an eyebrow at her brother in scorn for such bold bullshit. Scott batted his eyes winningly, hunching his shoulders in defeat an instant later and admitting, “Ok, at best she’ll just be glad to have a new reason to run tests.But seriously, where does a man get a beer here?”

Scott spread his arms out and pointed at shops at random as if he could somehow become a detection rod for beer if Jaime wouldn’t tell him. Catching her brother’s energy, Ryder replaced some of her protective paranoia with excitement. Scott had been struck with cabin fever for the last couple months, and it was hard to fault him for it after. Barring a breach of confidentiality, Lexi had assured Ryder that his scans had returned to healthy results, and Liam and Scott had already been warming Scott’s liver up for, in Liam’s words, ‘a proper bender’ with beer nights and a couple trips to the Vortex. Of course, Kadara wasn’t the regimented safety of the Nexus. But by the same token, Scott had gotten shit faced in his fair share of questionable dive bars when he had the chance. 

“Ok,” Ryder gave in to the temptation to cut loose with her oldest partner in crime. “We’ve got two choices: there’s Kralla’s Song, over there, it’s a good place for…whiskey, basically, if you want to stay on Umi’s good side. And in the slums, there’s Tartarus, if you want booze and dancers.”

“Which one do you go to?”

“Er…depends,” Ryder evaded naturally. “Umi and Drack get along and Liam likes Kralla’s Song, so going there is nice. But I know…people…at Tartarus and Kian gives me less shit than Umi, so…”

“Perfect, we’ll start at Tartarus one and move on to the K one when we’re too buzzed to care about getting shit from Umi. Bar hopping Heleus style!!” Scott pretended to raise the roof as he decided. 

Jaime shrugged agreeably, letting Scott take his time to soak in the sights of Kadara’s marketplace. Leading them to the lift to the slums, Ryder checked the pistol at her hip and glanced at her brother’s gun within reach. Ryder knew the slums, but she wasn’t naive enough to think that Reyes could, or would, stop a mugger or invalid looking for amusement. Raising his eyebrows at the ramshackle arrangement, Scott naturally checked the safety on his gun as they passed a cluster of turians and salarians holding a council at the corner of Tartarus’ rusting frame. Ryder kept her eyes on her own business through the door to Tartarus’ pounding interior.

The regime change suited Tartarus; the influx of exiles relieved of Sloane’s protection fees and colonists venturing in from the badlands all flooded in to get their share of cheap alcohol and drink in the diverse temptations Kian Dagher offered his clients. Scott stared up at one of the cages, tilting his head at the female salarian gyrating in his direction. The female salarian eyed him as he approached the bars, running her hands up her legs and unbuckling a knife sheath at her hip in the same motion.

“You’re going to lose a hand!” Ryder pulled Scott away before the salarian took greater offense.

Scott hung his head in disappointment, placidly following Ryder as she pushed her way up to the bar. Kian had his hands full, sliding glasses under the protective bars to reaching hands and claws. Whistling piercingly at a pair of pushy salarians, Kian shook his head forbiddingly and waited until the two were waiting in a compliant truce before handing them bottles of something. Catching sight of Ryder and already looking tired, Kian asked, “Drinking or an interrogation today?”

“Drinks,” Kian looked more welcoming for Ryder’s answer. “The usual.”

“Kadara Sunrises,” Kian nodded readily, stealing looks at Scott as he mixed. “Interested in a room? We just cleared out upstairs, nice and private.”

“Ah, no, see-“ Scott cleared his throat. “I’m her brother!!”

“Kinda figured,” Kian twirled a finger around his own face and looked between the two of them. “Saw pictures of your dad on the Nexus and heard there was another Ryder around. Just lettin’ you know what Tartarus can offer, rooms make me good profit.”

Meaning Reyes was on a job or lying low from his newest brush with trouble, Ryder accepted Kian’s signature creation without questioning the code phrase with it. Kian had never confirmed that he knew the Charlatan’s identity to Ryder’s face, and Ryder had returned the favor, but this wasn’t the first time Kian had tipped her off to Reyes’ absence from his typical lair.

“How’s trade with the outpost?” Ryder asked Kian in Reyes’ stead. Scott hacked in surprise at the strength and burning flavor of Kian’s wares. “Not getting you better booze, I take it?”

“My customers are used to it,” Kian laughed at Scott’s splutter. Watching over Ryder’s head at the sound of krogans drunkenly bellowing profanities, Kian asked, “No lost puppies or raiders up your ass today?”

“Here for fun,” Ryder assured the bartender. “Scott hasn’t gotten to party since we landed.”

“Ah, that’s what a lot of people are looking for, and I can provide,” Kian waved his hand at the dancers around them. “Want a private show?”

“I’m good,” Scott shook his head and swallowed through a red tinge of distaste. “Meant to ask, though, what’s with the salarians?”

“Definitely seeing the family resemblance,” Kian sighed at Ryder, leaning closer to the grate to hear Scott. “I serve whoever can _pay_.”

“Nah, in the cages,” Scott pointed at the salarian female he had first gawked at. “Asari and humans are the staples back home, and turians I get, but salarians don’t even fuck for fun, where’s the sex appeal in that?”

“Angara like them,” Kian explained with a shrug. “They like the turians, too. They like it, I’ll get it, and plenty of salarians’ll take the steady job around here. Even the angara know they're just for looking.”

Scott frowned thoughtfully, watching the salarian female and flicking his eyes to watch the human man in the cage next to her and the turian female on the second floor. 

“No krogan though?” Scott asked over his shoulder.

“You ever seen a krogan dance?” Kian laughed. “Even the krogan don’t like it, and most krogan would rather earn money the violent way. Are you having something else, or is Ryder drinking for two?”

“Just give him the best beer you have,” Ryder decided. Looking around at the open bar compared to Reyes’ accommodations, Ryder wheedled, “Can I see the upstairs room?”

“Are you gonna pay?” Kian popped the cap off Scott’s beer.

“No.”

“Not a chance,” Kian smiled tolerantly as he handed Scott his beer and Ryder another Kadara Sunrise. “But his first drink’s on me.”

Ryder transferred a generous tip and hurried to catch Scott as he wandered towards the stairs. Despite overlooking the slums—or more likely because of it—Tartarus’ staff shut down fights faster than Umi, usually before a shove turned into a brawl or bloodbath. That wouldn’t stop Scott from losing fingers or earning a concussion if he got too close to the wrong person. Scott kept his eyes on the floor and the dancers, standing respectfully aside to let a turian and asari descend the stairs. 

She needed to stop worrying, Ryder took another draw of her drink. Scott had carried himself on an Alliance base without her. But Andromeda wasn’t the Milky Way. But Scott had fought his way through kett, just as anyone in Andromeda would have. But only because Ryder had fallen into the Archon’s trap. But he was only a few minutes less competent than she was. He was going to learn to navigate Andromeda on his own eventually.

“The bartender seems nice,” Scott looked down the neck of his beer bottle suspiciously. 

“He’s a good businessman, and he’s nice enough,” Ryder tempered Scott’s expectations for anyone in Kadara. Kian was more amicable than most of the people Ryder had met on Kadara, but she had seen him pull a weapon on a problem often enough to know he knew how to ensure he beat the odds.

Scott wandered upstairs, nodding to himself with the music. Catching Jaime snickering at the notoriously bad Ryder rhythm, Scott shimmied his shoulders, mimicking the sashay of the dancer in the cage.

“Leave it to them,” Ryder shivered in horror, only some of it fake.

“You’re just jealous,” Scott two-stepped offbeat and sipped his beer. Spinning on his heel to take in the bar, Scott decided, “Yup, I can see why you like this. It’s nice to get away from suits and Tann stroking his ego over the speaker. And get a drink without a posh sniff on the side.”

Ryder sipped her drink and took in the flashing lights, occupied shadows, thrashing dancers, and layer of grime that was Tartarus. Where the Vortex was still setting up to look prim and scraping for high end ingredients to satisfy Dutch, the bars on Kadara had been broken in by their clients and reached the state of a well-worn haven. Glancing at the vacant room on the end, Ryder resolved to visit Reyes less and reevaluate her standards. Scott swigged his beer as he watched the species around them, smiling to himself contentedly. It was safe to assume no doctor or reporter or administrator would bother him here.

“The Nexus has its advantages,” Ryder reminded. “ _Most_ of the people from the uprising weren’t criminals, but it's still brutal here.”

“I’m not an idiot, Jaime,” Scott bubbled into his beer. “This isn’t a place where the cages are decorative and the guns are for show. I get’cha.”

But Scott hadn’t seen the dark underbelly of Andromeda in action. Not really. Other than the Archon, Ryder reminded herself, it was harder to get darker than that. And he had survived that. Barely. But that was on par with the rest of them, the rest of Andromeda wasn’t _that_ dark. Most of the time. Jesus, she needed to relax, Ryder sipped until she had to hiccup. 

Scott swished his beer lazily, noting, “You do make interesting friends, though. Pathfinders, angara politicians and generals, Initiative snobs, and…a crime lord or two.”

“Part of the job,” Ryder had stopped being surprised at the alliances she found herself in.“I worked with what I had when we landed.”

Scott belched loudly in agreement and looked pleased with himself. Finishing off his beer, Scott revised “Right, we’re not here to talk Pathfinder stuff. More beer!”

And there was more beer. More beer, and more Kadara Sunrises, and a shot of something Kian assured them was whiskey even after Scott had spit it out in disgust. There was also dancing on a table, until a large turian pulled Ryder down and informed, “Stop. Or, Kian’s happy to get you a cage and split the profits.”

“Are we really going to Kralla’s Song?” Ryder asked as she punched in the tab and remembered to leave Kian another tip for the table. 

“You said whiskey?” Scott puffed out his cheeks through a belch with artistic vibrato. “Then, _yes_. ‘Sides, I kinda promised Liam he’d get to see me shit faced. Oops.”

Ryder thought wistfully of her bed, warm and soft, and safely away from Umi’s wrath. Scott dragged her along by the elbow, skipping down the steps towards the lift. 

“Pathfinder,” SAM snapped in her mind. “Be-“

SAM’s voice was lost in a mechanical screech, and Ryder was reaching for her gun before she consciously heard the scuffle behind her. Ryder turned into a sharp turian fist in her throat, her wrist snapping neatly from the turian’s skilled twist. Scott cursed, his elbows and knees buffeting Jaime’s chest, ribs, and spine as the turian kicked her into him and down the rigid metal stairs. Scott landed with a splatter of mud and a pained grunt, digging under their jumble of limbs for his gun.

Jaime blasted her biotics outward, throwing Scott free and the turian back into the stairs with a satisfying crack. Good, one problem down, now to find her gun. Scott shouted over the crunch of his arm splintering under a large human’s stomp. Jaime hunkered in a barrier as Scott’s biotics lifted everything around them in a forceful field that would make the Alliance teacher’s proud. Jaime threw her barrier forward, colliding with her brother’s field to toss the turian, human, and an approaching salarian aside in a reverberating explosion.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Ryder chanted as she reached between each stair for her wayward gun. 

“Fuck,” Scott agreed, cradling his arm to his chest and crawling for his gun with his good hand. “ _Fuck_ , I’m out of practice.”

Ryder pulled herself up by the stair railing, shouting a warning too late as a salarian raider whacked Scott in the back of the neck with a heavy club. Scott fell face first to the ground, red blood running down his shoulders to stain the ground. 

“Scott! SAM,” Ryder dug through the mud for her weapon and searched for SAM through the chittering static. “We need-“

“Fuckin’ get her!” the burly human had regained his footing. 

“You didn’t say they were biotics,” the turian spat, swinging her foot into Ryder’s face.

Ryder’s teeth sliced through her tongue in a river of blood that clogged Ryder’s throat and nose. Throwing a weak warp in the turian’s direction, Ryder gagged as the turian hooked a rigid arm around her neck and jerked her off balance. Ryder’s adrenaline rushed to clear her head from the haze of alcohol, fueled by the salarian slinking to sniff around Scott and flip him over with a foot to the ribs.

“Get the hell off him,” Ryder gurgled, digging her nails into the turian’s arm until her fingers tore. "Get off of him, or I'll  _kill_ -"

“You’re gonna kill her!” the human barked, his omnitool flaring in front of Ryder’s face.

Ryder’s head burst into a blinding white light while her muscles locked in place, preventing even a twitch for posterity as the turian threw her to the ground. Groping for words in the blank slate of her mind, Ryder managed a wiggle as the human came to stand over her. 

“Fucking _bitch!_ ” the turian’s shout and the crunch of her foot against the side of Ryder's head was the last thing Ryder managed to comprehend.

* * *

“Any word from Reyes?” Vetra asked Drack almost under her breath.

“Not a squeak,” Drack grunted. “Doesn’t even have the decency to be in his usual nest.”

Had they expected any more from the outlaw? Jaal couldn’t bring himself to ask. Ryder had thought there was something more to Reyes Vidal than his self-serving acts and deception, but that was in comparison to Sloane. Stars, what a time for Reyes to prove himself even less useful.

“Can’t be kett, Sloane and Ryder put a boot up their ass,” Liam reasoned, slamming his hand into the arm of his chair in impotent frustration.

Perhaps. Sloane Kelly had expunged the kett from Kadara to solidify her reputation. But then, she had made the same claim before Kaetus had hired Ryder to finish the job. The kett could have returned or outlasted, the way they continued to infest Voeld and creep from hidden dens on Eos and Havarl despite the Resistance and Initiative’s best efforts. 

“That wouldn’t make sense,” Cora cut Liam off, her hands clasped tightly behind her back where she thought the others couldn’t see her fingers twisting. “Ryder…I mean, the Pathfinder wouldn’t take Scott out into the badlands by herself, and kett don’t come into the port.”

“Unless she thought it was easier to drive to the settlement?” Peebee asked without conviction. “Show Scott the sights?”

“Makes perfect sense!” Gil praised sarcastically. “If the Nomad wasn’t sitting in the ship right now.”

“At least I’m trying to think!”

It made no sense whatsoever regardless of the Nomad’s location. Ryder would never risk her brother like that. Would she? Scott had been looking for excitement on Kadara…But, no, Ryder was adventurous, often impulsive, but not foolish enough to venture out onto Kadara’s badlands without more guns, and there was no word of an attack in the slums. 

“Maybe the Roekaar are active again?” Vetra glanced at Jaal uncertainly. “Some angara still aren’t happy to have an Initiative outpost on Kadara, this could be a great recruitment opportunity.”

A chilling thought that had been with Jaal ever since the crew had returned without either Ryder. Akksul’s obligatory remorse and shame had extended to Jaal, and that had been enough to subdue him for a time, but the Roekaar had far from disappeared. Ryder was the perfect target- the human Pathfinder, a symbol of the Initiative’s commitment to Heleus. Even worse, much worse, unforgivable to the Roekaar, she was his taoshay, the living, breathing, and beautiful truth that there could be happiness despite the Roekaar’s hatred. Scott only served as further proof and would be afforded little to no mercy for his perceived crime of existing.

“Roekaar, kett, an idiot bandit too stupid to know better, we’ll know once we kill ‘em,” Drack informed all of them. “First we gotta _find_ ‘em, and get ‘em back.”

Bracingly realistic, Jaal agreed to a point. Finding Ryder and Scott was the first priority, and retribution would come swiftly after that. But knowing what group had taken them could aid in the search; Roekaar would stay on angaran planets, while kett could disappear from Heleus forever and take Ryder, and Scott, with them. 

“Roekaar or kett seem unlikely,” SAM informed the room. “The primary assailant was a turian.”

“Primary?” Cora’s fingers were turning white and blotchy. “How many were there, SAM?”

“I accounted for three: a female turian, approximately 20 years in-“

“Just the crucial numbers, SAM,” Liam ordered the AI and sprang up from his chair.

“A turian female, a salarian male, and a human male,” SAM finished more quickly. “My scans indicate that they are exiles.”

“So where’s Ryder, both Ryders, now?” Vetra prodded.

“I am confident that they are on Kadara,” SAM reported strongly. Jaal caught the soft flicker of SAM’s projection as the AI finished more flatly, “I am having difficulty determining a more precise location.”

“Why?” Lexi snapped with the loudest harshness Jaal had ever heard from her. “You…your connection is running? SAM??”

Jaal studied SAM for any trace of a doubtful flicker as the AI assured, “My connection with the Pathfinder has not been severed. However, I have been effectively rendered blind by the use of a scrambler. My scanning and communication abilities are limited in such an environment. Dr. Anwar and I are searching for a solution.”

“Scrambler?” Drack snapped, rolling his cybernetic shoulder testily. “Sounds like that pyjack pile-”

“Spender,” Vetra spat for him.

“Another great idea, but he’s rotting in a jail cell,” Gil interjected, making everyone glare at him. “I want to find her and Scott as much as the rest of you, but we need better than just listing anyone who _might_ have a grudge! Can’t be Spender, so, who can get a scrambler?”

“On Kadara? Anyone with enough credits,” Vetra growled. “But Gil’s right, we need more, there are too many possibilities on Kadara.”

Liam ground his teeth over the dilemma, sharing a look with Vetra that snapped with distaste. Peebee shifted from foot to foot, adding her eyes to the glances between Liam, Vetra, and now Cora. Drack grunted at something, his joints creaking as he rolled his neck. 

“Jaal?” Peebee prompted gently just as Drack opened his mouth to growl something, gesturing to the empty space where Jaal should be standing in the team huddle. “What’ya think?”

What did _he_ think? This would be the moment where he asked Ryder what _she_ thought, so they could worry and plan together to find the solution. That was how it should be, Ryder should be here, where they could face something this frightening together. But, of course she wasn’t. That was what made it all the more frightening.

Jaal hated Kadara. He didn’t want to think of Kadara, or Ryder and Scott on Kadara. Especially without him, while he had stayed sulking on the ship despite Ryder and Peebee’s pleas. But none of this would find Ryder. He needed a way to demystify the cesspool that was Kadara. Jaal’s blood simmered at the solution they were all hoping to avoid.

“I need to contact Evfra,” Jaal declared, before he could argue himself out of such an unstable hope.

“ _Now_?” Gil squawked.

“He will know how to find…Shena,” Jaal heard himself sneer the name to get it out.

Drack nodded in agreement, while Liam sighed in relief to have the burden of the obvious lifted from his shoulders. Cora unlocked her hands, keeping them steady long enough to set up the call on the vidcom. Jaal could feel the crew’s eyes on him, and already see Evfra’s mouth twist in disapproval for the interruption. Jaal would rather seek advice, and comfort, from the Moshae; but he did not need comfort, he needed results.

“We’ll leave you to it,” Vetra promised softly, herding the others towards the ramp. “Check in with Suvi about what we can do with SAM.”

Cora planted her feet, leaning away from Liam’s tentative pat to her arm. Jaal could smell the sweat that was making the hair on the back of her neck damp. Jaal was familiar with these signs of agitation from Liam or Ryder, but he had never seen Cora exhibit this type of stress under pressure. The source of the change made Jaal’s heart twinge for her; Cora’s relationship with Scott had turned distinctly intimate recently. This was not the way to celebrate the event.

“Cora,” Jaal found himself offering. “You are the senior officer on the Tempest. Evfra will want to speak with you…until Ryder returns.”

Cora jerked in surprise and looked taken aback by something. Perhaps she had been counting on Scott to be here in Ryder’s stead. Jaal would prefer Ryder and Scott together than separate; they were stronger when they fought for each other. 

“Of course,” Cora cleared her throat through a shake. “Yes, you're right, thank you, Jaal.”

Jaal’s aching heart lightened enough to let Jaal start the call at the relief in Cora’s eyes. The rest of the crew abided by the decision, splitting to try and be useful as they waited. Jaal struggled to keep from hitting the console as the signal droned across space on the hope that Evfra wasn’t busy with tactics, supplies, and informants already. Jaal’s heart kicked against the inside of his chest as the hologram flickered to life, giving Jaal the most stability a silhouette of Evfra could offer. Jaal was ashamed by how much that was.

“I was not expecting a report,” Evfra never spared syllables when he wanted explanations. Jaal saw the outlines of his scars deepen with his frown when he noticed Cora where Ryder should be. “I assume that means-”

“Yes. I need your help,” Jaal blurted before he realized he hadn’t let Evfra finish formalities. “Ryder, the Pathfinder, and Scott, are missing.”

Jaal realized he had gotten the words wrong, begging Evfra where he should be submitting a detailed request. Where were they missing? Evfra would ask, and Kadara would be a dissatisfying answer. Surely Cora should know how to find Reyes, as the next in the chain of command, Evfra would be once again unimpressed by Initiative hierarchy. This should be simple, and all Jaal could do was bumble over his words like a new recruit.

“We need to know how to contact Shena when he doesn’t want to be found,” Cora finished for Jaal, sounding perfectly professional while her fingers tapped out of sight.

“Done, I’ll send word to him immediately,” Evfra promised. “You should have a location within the hour. The Moshae has been keeping a close eye on Akksul, but a friendly ‘chat’ with him should get anything he might be hiding. I hadn’t heard of kett sightings on Kadara, no doubt you can ask Shena that yourselves. Do we know anything more? Were they taken together, could they have been separated? What do we stand to fight?”

Jaal realized he wasn’t saying anything as Evfra stared out at him from the projection, and saw Cora lean back in confusion at Evfra’s decisive questioning. Evfra was briskly typing commands into the tool on his wrist, keeping his eyes on the pair of them for answers. ‘We,’ Evfra said, as if he was reassuring Resistance forces. This was not the response Jaal was expecting when Evfra had the angara to organize.

“Jaal Ama Darav,” Evfra’s commanding summons struck through Jaal’s numb confusion. “What do you know and what needs to be done?”

“They were taken on Kadara, by Initiative exiles,” Jaal automatically reported. “Ryder’s SAM believes they are still on Kadara. We do not know where. We need to find where, and why.”

“You need to find where, and who is responsible,” Evfra corrected. “‘You can get a ‘why’ out of the culprits once you have them. Sending Resistance forces to Kadara could prove challenging, will the Initiative provide any support you need?”

“For their Pathfinder?” Cora snapped. “They damn well better.”

“Even so,” Evfra grunted. “I’ll spare what resources I can…until then.”

Evfra typically sounded scathing when he talked about Initiative ineffectiveness, but Jaal found something reassuring in Evfra’s preemptive preparations. Under his growled reprimands, put upon cooperation with the Initiative, and gruff mutterings about Jaal getting too easily attached, Evfra respected Ryder as an ally and ‘associate’ of Jaal’s. And Evfra did not let allies go.

“Thank you, Evfra,” Jaal remembered his manners before the leader of the Resistance and bowed his head a fraction to prove it.

“Of course,” Evfra’s tone sounded as if rescuing the Pathfinder was something he had been expecting to do since breakfast. “We don’t lose good soldiers to the filth on Kadara. We’ll be ready if need be.”

With that universal truth dispatched, Evfra hung up. Cora’s sigh shuddered in the silence while Jaal struggled to regain his bearings. Evfra made decisiveness and confidence seem…certain. Jaal felt far from certain.

“Evfra’s right. We’ll be ready,” Cora’s voice scratched as she said it. “And I should inform the Initiative.”

Cora rested her fingers on the console, pressing the buttons slowly and deliberately. Muttering something to herself, Cora straightened to stand tall and resolute,smoothing her uniform into crisp lines as the comm processed the call. 

“Would you like…?” 

“No,” Cora spared Jaal a smile before her mouth resumed a firm line. “I can…I’ll handle the Initiative. Go see if Suvi has found something.”

Jaal didn’t need a second offer, guiltily rushing down the ramp at the sound of Tann’s sharp greeting and Addison’s judgmental tone. Jaal practically ran when Tann cut off Cora’s soft explanation with an injured squawk. Jaal hurried to the bridge, turning around half-way through Kallo’s sympathetic words when Suvi was nowhere to be found.

“Ryder’s…ah, the Pathfinder’s quarters!” Kallo called after him, chattering apologetically.

Jaal brushed past Liam jogging up to the meeting room to save Cora, descending the ladder opposite Vetra as she climbed to the cockpit to ask Kallo about any disturbances from the port. 

“SAM, how can you be ‘blind?’” Suvi sighed in exasperation over SAM’s projection.

“I’m unsure how an organic being would comprehend the state, Dr. Anwar,” SAM admitted. “I am receiving limited input from Ryder’s senses that could be of some assistance, but I cannot pinpoint an exact location or establish a stable comm link. The Pathfinder and Scott’s implants are receptive to my signal, but the scrambler inhibits my ability to return reliable data.”

“Shit, shit, shit!” Jaal found himself inanely surprised by Suvi’s explosive profanity. “We’d need the scrambler to hack it.”

“Yes, Dr. Anwar,” SAM confirmed.

“Then…give what data you have,” Suvi typed frantically. “How long you traveled, or what daylight there is, the landscape, maybe we can narrow locations, and…anything, SAM, give me anything!”

“Of course, Dr. Anwar,” SAM soothed. 

“Suvi,” Jaal lay a hand on Suvi’s shoulder as the scientist rocked Ryder’s desk chair in thought.

Jaal sprang back with Suvi’s scream, folding his hands against his chest as the chair crashed to the floor and Suvi lurched to catch it.

“Jaal!” Suvi gasped, catching a cascading stack of datapads from falling off Ryder's desk. “I wasn’t, I was…I’m so, oh-“

“Yes, I understand,” Jaal assured with painful sincerity. “There is much to do, yet it’s hard to concentrate. Strong emotions can cloud the mind.”

Suvi nodded and carefully straightened the datapads into an immaculately neat stack as she stuttered, “I can do this on another console, I just thought, well, it seemed easier, and I…”

“Thank you, Suvi,” Jaal was guiltily glad to have Suvi offer.

Suvi nodded, frantically patting Ryder's desk into place and checking her omnitool. 

“I’ll find something. I’ve mapped the old way, I can do it,” Suvi promised, biting her lip as Jaal looked at her with nothing to add. “I will.”

Jaal nodded and quietly sat on Ryder’s bed as Suvi hurried out the door, still talking to herself or SAM. The door closed with a thunk, and Jaal looked around the cabin in search of…something. The Pathfinder’s quarters were impressive but hardly expansive, and yet Jaal felt adrift. Everything was just where it should be: the bed was neatly made to cover where Ryder should be sleeping, Ryder’s desk was organized from where she had been working that morning, while Odin was skittering in his cage to hoard the pellets of food Ryder had indulgently given him before she left. Ryder was still here, in everything Jaal laid his eyes on, but it was little more than inanimate tokens waiting for Ryder to return. Jaal shivered at the familiar sensation of sorting through memorials of loved ones that had vanished without warning, the solitude of the cabin bearing down on him.

“Jaal?” the cabin door opened on Peebee, Drack, Liam, Gil, and Vetra leaning in.

“Anything?” Liam asked with a foreign softness, so different from his confident commands and demands for answers.

“No,” Jaal cleared his throat. “Even Evfra cannot work that fast.”

“Well…want some company?” Peebee asked, trying to stroll into the cabin despite Vetra’s hand on her elbow.

“Yes, please,” Jaal admitted, glancing at the empty chairs and couches that only reminded him of how empty the cabin was.

Peebee ignored the other options and came to sit by Jaal on the bed, folding her hands in her lap as she looked at him. Liam and Vetra sat quietly in chair opposite each other with Gil in between them, leaving Drack leaning in the door stubbornly.

“It is strange,” Jaal told the room, looking at Peebee when she squirmed sympathetically. “How one can be worried, fearful, terrified, but numb. Full of questions and emotions, but somehow empty. I…I am not making sense.”

“Yeah, you are,” Gil assured, cleaning grease out from under his nails to avoid looking at Jaal as he talked. “Emotions are contradictory little buggers.”

“Sometimes, you just get sensory overload,” Liam added with is customary confidence. “Gotta take a second to process. If you need to get that out of your head, people make good sounding boards.”

“What about your mothers?” Peebee rested a hand on Jaal’s shoulder. “Sahuna, maybe we can get Sahuna on the comm?”

“No,” Jaal murmured despite the comforting thought. “I don’t want my family to be involved at a time like this. That will only make them worry.”

“We’re all worried,” Vetra comforted, coming over to sit on Jaal’s other side. “It can help to have someone worry with you.”

“Yes,” Jaal said to all of them. “But it will be difficult to comfort my family from here. Once we know more, when I have more than questions they cannot help me answer.”

“Ok,” Vetra nodded while Peebee swallowed a soft word. “I get that.”

Peebee squeezed Jaal’s shoulder while Vetra talked, lending Jaal the energy to attempt a thankful smile to all of them. 

“We gotcha,” Liam promised next to Gil nodding.

“Thank you,” Jaal patted Peebee’s hand and bumped shoulders with Vetra. “It does help, to worry together.”

“I’d be more worried for the idiots who took them,” Gil tried to have a lift in his voice, finishing under a warning look from Vetra. “You’d have to have a death wish to take on two Ryders at once after Meridian.”

“Then we’ll grant it,” Drack interjected from his place in the doorway as Cora joined them.

“Assuming those two don’t beat us to it,” Cora finished, catching Jaal’s eye.

Drack nodded shortly at Jaal as he flexed the fingers on his cybernetic hand in preparation for the fight ahead. Jaal soaked in the confidence of the crew around him. Blunt as always, Gil was reassuring despite his fumbling. Ryder and Scott would do their part to survive and make their captors pay; Jaal and the others’ only choice was to fight as hard to find them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The game has NPCs going “Keema’s not the REAL Charlatan..right?” while Ryder goes “So, Drack, how ‘bout Reyes as the Charlatan?!” But I feel as if Reyes wouldn’t want anyone to have the ability to ask SAM “Who’s the Charlatan?” And that Ryder wouldn't want anyone to have the ability to ask SAM for the details about Sloane and Reyes. This rendition of the Pathfinder isn’t eager for Scott to know about that side of her adventures.
> 
> I don’t have the Ryders communicate internally via SAM a lot. It’s a little too close to verbatim “twin telepathy,” which can be fun, but I like “physical” and active feedback between characters. 
> 
> And before anyone asks: No, "The Turian" is not Kaetus.

Scott awoke to a pounding head and his cheek pressed to something cold. Damn, he and Jaime must have drunk more than he thought last night, his head and body hadn’t hurt this much since…

Scott bolted upright, scooting backward on the smooth floor until his back was to the wall. Stifling a shout as a bolt of pain shot up his arm, Scott ran his palm along the flesh over tender bone carefully. It was freshly healed, from the sticky trace of medigel on his arm.Scott flexed his arm tenderly to the memory of the savage stomp crashing through it. Scratching at his neck, Scott flicked flakes of dried blood out from under his nails. That explained the headache and the cresting nausea.

_Scott,_ SAM prompted from inside Scott’s head.

Scott curled into the corner on reflex, SAM’s flat voice triggering a cold sweat on his skin, a wave of nausea in his core, and a fresh spasm in his arm. After more than six months, Scott should be accustomed to SAM’s voice mixing with his own thoughts. It had been simple to deal with before the Archon, but the events on Meridian had conditioned Scott to dread SAM's interjections. Waking up aboard the Tempest with Cora’s hand hanging over the side of the bunk above him and the shuffles of Gil sneaking to his work while Suvi snored softly in the neighboring bunk had started to help Scott overcome the nagging tickle of fear whenever SAM spoke to him, but the residual anxiety refused to be eradicated.

And this was not the Tempest. Closing his eyes in the encompassing darkness, Scott ran his hand against the rough wall as he waited for his eyes to adjust. It was stone, course stone that scraped his palm instead of the chill of rigid metal he had dreaded. Fighting against the alcohol still muddying his head, Scott whispered, “SAM?”

_Hello, Scott,_ SAM replied promptly. _You have been unconscious._

“Yeah…yeah, I got that,” Scott opened his eyes to a dim chamber around him. His first thought was Tartarus’ cages from the bars segmenting his vision. Wetting his mouth and nipping his cheek to sharpen his senses from the pain, Scott reassessed. Not the club, that was too obvious. This room was too cold and smelled even fouler than the vomit and waste mixing with the mud from the slums. So where was 'here'?

_I am attempting to calculate your location_ , SAM replied to the skittering question.

“Where’s Jaime?” Scott demanded as he dug his fingers into the wall and tried to stand. “SAM, where’s Jaime?”

_Approximately three feet to your right, Scott, in the interior of the cell. She remains unconscious._

Scott sank back to the floor as his knees shuddered. Standing would have to wait until the world decided to stay still. Sliding on his aching knees and raw hands, Scott locked his fingers around the first part of Jaime he felt, feeling up from her elbow until he ran into the spread of tangled hair over her shoulder.

“Ok,” Scott crawled his fingers to his sister’s neck, resting them above her pulse. “Good, good, keep it up, Jaime.”

Pulling at Jaime’s shoulders and waist, Scott squinted through the low light at the dark smears across Jaime’s face. Blood, but no obvious source besides the mouth and nose, typical of a bad knock to the face. Scott looked for active signs of life as he scrubbed the crusted marks away from Jaime’s mouth and nose to be safe.

_The Pathfinder was further sedated after waking during transport,_ SAM assured. _Her vital signs are within an acceptable range_.

Picking his sister’s hair out of her face to busy his shaking hands, Scott pulled Jaime to lean against his chest. Scott felt something matting the hair along his sister’s temple, recognizing the fetid odor of old blood. He’d never wanted Lexi to walk in with antiseptic and needle so badly. Gulping rhythmically to settle his sour stomach, Scott patted his sister over for more damage before focussing on the most obvious problem.

“Ok, we’re ok, huh? This is gonna be ok. Bet they’re on their way, ready to pick us up. Definitely you, right?” Scott mumbled apologetically as he gently pressing the edges of the healed gash the blood came from. Scott pinched himself to clear his head when he felt dumbly surprised by Jaime's silence. Scott settled Jaime between his chest and knees, rambling at random,  “But we should get out of here, and I could use a little help, some of your hero magic, sis, so you gotta get up.”

“Hey!”

Scott tightened his grip around Jaime’s shoulders before looking over to the bars where the hiss had come from. A gaunt salarian leaned against the bars, the bright white of his face markings standing out as he craned his head to look at the Ryder twins in their shared hunker. Scott stroked his thumb along Jaime’s damp forehead for comfort, shifting her in his lap so he could face the salarian.

“You’re the Ryders,” the salarian’s lids blinked quickly and his fingers twined around the bars between them. “That, her, she’s the Pathfinder.”

“Who are you?” Scott avoided the question, angling his head down and turning Jaime into his body to obscure her face.

“Not important,” the salarian pressed closer against the bars. “I’ve met the Pathfinder. Spoke to her a few times, in Kralla’s Song.”

“Then who are you?” Scott insisted.

“Part of the Collective,” Scott jerked his head up at the sound of an angara from behind the salarian. The deep blue angaran woman crawled to the bars slowly, sitting at the salarian’s feet.“No use in being coy, Pantak. Or for you, Scott Ryder. Even Kadara knows who you are.”

“And you?” Scott gave up a useless game. “And this place?”

“I’m Tejna,” the angara replied, looking over her shoulder to shifting shadows Scott finally recognized for two more bodies. “I was one of Keema’s guards.”

Keema, Keema, who was Keema? Scott wracked his groggy head for answers. The name sounded angaran, and Scott knew it must be someone Jaime had babbled about as she had shown Scott Kadara, but Scott had started to tune Jaime out to take in the sights and interesting conversations Kadara had to offer. But "a guard" sounded like an official position, and Jaime had dragged Scott to the Collective's headquarters, so Keema must be...

“Keema? Queen of Kadara?” Scott blurted.

“In manner of speaking,” Pantak grumbled scornfully, accepting a punch to his knee from Tejna without a struggle.

“The public face of Kadara’s authority,” Tejna concluded as she propped her shoulder against the bars. 

“And the private?” Scott struggled to remember Jaime’s wandering account of Sloane’s downfall. “The Charlatan? You’re not one of their guys?”

“I’m strictly paid to protect Keema,” Tejna corrected importantly, swatting Pantak’s ankle a second time. “He works for the Charlatan personally.”

“We all 'work for' the Charlatan,” Pantak stepped sideways to avoid Tejna’s foot. “‘Personally’ is above our pay grade.”

“And this place?” Scott huddled closer to Jaime through a cold draft.

“The Outcasts last sewer,” Pantak sneered.

The Outcasts must have been Sloane's faction. Jaime's distinction between one criminal queen and the next was largely lost on Scott, but he understood the concept of a gang war. Grand titles aside, Keema had named herself queen of the hill, Tejna was there to keep it that way, and Jaime was an accessory to that arrangement.  "The Outcasts" were the second gang, and that was enough to give Scott an opponent. 

“Any idea where it is, geographically?” Scott kept his voice calm to fight his own annoyance.

“We were all out or blind when we got here,” Tejna shook her head. 

Any other advice Tejna might have had was lost under a heavy "thunk" and rattling crunch of metal doors at the end of the cell row. Scott shielded his eyes in his shoulder from the stabbing pain of bright lights snapping on overhead. Frantically blinking away the dancing spots on his eyes, Scott drew into the shallow shadows the bright lights outside the cells left him. The choking foul smell lost its mystery when Scott saw the motley stains painting the floo. The room beyond the bars was sparse but expansive compared to the cramped cells. Electrical wires draped across the walls above a pair of crude benches framing a worn and splattered chair in a macabre display to the waiting prisoners.  Scott had to hand it to the Outcasts; they kept intimidation simple and straightforward. Metal screeched against itself as a door closed beyond the cells. Pantak fell to the floor at a hiss from a human man behind him while Tejna crawled away from the salarian to claim a sheltered corner at the back of their cell. Pantak stayed folded where he was, twining his spindly arms around his knees.

“SAM?” Scott breathed, dragging Jaime with him to the far corner of the cell. “How many, and what?”

_I am unsure. Apologies, Scott, my scanning abilities are limited here._

Scott watched closely as a turian in full armor and helm strode into view, flanked by a salarian and asari or human in their own helmets. The occupants in the neighboring cell looked towards their back wall, shrinking into crevices and shadows as the turian rattled his gauntlets along the bars. Scott lowered Jaime to the floor behind his knees with his hand on her shouldersas the turian stomped to a halt outside his cell door. Scott's gut urged him to prepare for a fight, flooding Scott with adrenaline while his joints and muscles complained for the sudden shift from "unconscious" to "combat" procedure. Scott's sense told him to stay down, close to the floor in the shadow of the turian's slender frame blending across the bars.

“You’re awake,” the turian observed plainly. 

“What did you give her?” Scott demanded, kneeling in preparation to rise if he had to.

“Medigel, and something to keep her from trying anything,” the turian didn't mince words. “Your biotic abilities are impressive.”

“I got my implant from the best, and my training from the Alliance. I’m happy to prove it,” Scott informed, barely finding the energy to raise a wavering barrier.

The asari laughed scornfully at his display while the turian watched in unimpressed silence. Scott was at least as diplomatic as Jaime in ideal situations; serving on an outpost while his father dismantled the Ryder name had taught Scott that holding his tongue or laughing things off got him less grief than the angry alternatives. But Alec Ryder’s defensive pride lurked under the surface, and considering Scott was sitting in a putrid cell, diplomacy could go fuck itself.

“I know your reputation,” the turian confirmed. “Frankly, I’m still disappointed.”

“Tragic," Scott's ferocity surprised him. "What do you want?” 

“Where’s the Charlatan?” the turian didn’t seem interested in the question as he unhooked keys from his belt.

Sitting in grime and universally aching, Scott realized these idiots had snatched the wrong man. Scott had heard the title sporadically thrown between the members of the Tempest crew alongside a number of names he didn’t recognize but the only solid facts Scott knew were that the Charlatan was a man, “he” had taken Kadara from Sloane, and what that entailed was one of the many things Scott was still trying to get Jaime to talk about. It was something that even Kallo didn’t glibly gossip about. 

_SAM?_ Scott directed to the AI. 

_I do not know the Charlatan’s current location,_ SAM reported.

_And the Charlatan is???_ Scott knew the AI could feel annoyance.

_I’m sorry, Scott, the Pathfinder has ordered that I keep that information classified._

**_SAM!_** _Jaime knows, just tell me!_

_I am sorry. It is against protocol to share the Pathfinder’s personal knowledge without her permission. Even to you._

Scott had gotten pride and Jaime had gotten their father’s secretive streak, Scott's heart sank. Scott would be angry when Jaime’s dried blood wasn’t making his fingers sticky. Whoever the Charlatan was, he was big or dangerous enough for Jaime to avoid the subject. Scott would work with what he had until he had the information he needed.

“I don’t know,” Scott admitted, bunching his fingers in Jaime’s sleeve as the turian flicked through keys. “I’ve never been to Kadara before.”

“No, I thought not,” the turian shrugged off the failure and yanked the door open.

“Hey, hey,“ Scott struggled to stand as the turian approached him. “Back-“

Scott froze with the muzzle of the gun opposite his nose before the turian had finished a disappointed sigh. Chilling disinterested, the turian tapped his finger against the trigger to let Scott feel the vibration through the gun. Scott raised his hands slowly, abandoning his first instinct when he saw the pair of guns the salarian and asari had prepared; even a veteran soldier wouldn't take those odds. Tapping the side of the barrel against Scott’s cheek to steer him aside, the turian dug his heel into the soft hollow under Jaime’s ribcage.

“She’s still out,” Scott tried to sink to the floor, kept upright by the edge of the gun stabbing into his cheek.

“Inconvenient, but not unexpected,” the turian still seemed unimpressed. Holstering his weapon and confidently turning his back on Scott as he left the cell, the turian proceeded opened the neighboring cell and pointed to Pantak. 

Scott scrambled back to Jaime’s side and pulled her into the back of the cell with him, retreating as far away from the door and neighboring cell as possible. Peeling up Jaime’s hair to take a look at the healed gash in the light, Scott rested his hand over Jaime’s pulse to keep himself from shaking. Scott had been trained for hostage situations, and every typical Alliance scenario tumbled through his head to be discarded. Alliance training was for soldiers to save the military base or civilians passing through the relay. Scott didn't even know how many outlaws waited on the other side of the door, much less how to get back to the port without getting left for dead in the dirt.

“I told you, I _don’t know_ ,” Pantak barely struggled as the asari dragged him out by the hook of his horns. Scott abandoned any scheme he might be stupid enough to risk as he watched Pantak bump across the floor. “I’ve never even met them!”

“Then you’re stupid or lying,” the turian decided as Pantak slammed into the back of the chair the asari slung him into. The Outcast salarian tightened restraints around Pantak’s wrists and legs, ignoring his fellow salarian’s weak twists. The turian sat down on one of the benches, taking a gleaming curved knife from a holster at his back and running a claw up the blade until Scott's ears cringed from the screech. “Easy first question: who is the Charlatan?”

“I don’t know! No one does!” Pantak sounded resigned behind his fear. “There’s always another tier, we’re not _supposed_ to know!”

Tapping the tip of his knife against his knee, the turian asked, “You work for pay, where does it come from?”

“We get credits on our tools when we do a job. You don’t need a hand off,” Pantak flexed his fingers.

“You work for someone you don’t know, and can’t track down for payment,” the turian’s laugh rattled throughout the space. “Like I said, lying or stupid.”

Scott shrank back as the turian rose from his seat and circled the chair slowly. Flipping the knife over his hand, the turian bobbed his head to the side. Scott hugged Jaime to him, counting the methodic rattle of the knife against his pounding heartbeat. The asari and salarian waited in perfect obedience and unfazed apathy at the scene before them.  Scott knew a practiced routine when he saw one, and he'd be a fool to think that it hadn't proved successful for the Outcasts to last this long amidst the savage Kadara environment he had heard about. Some of these men probably had Alliance training from Sloane's organization, Scott realized with a chill.

_SAM? Get us out,_ Scott couldn't have uttered the order aloud if he had wanted to.

_I am encountering a number of errors in my calculations. I am limited to basic tasks._

Pantak squealed as the asari lashed out her hand and broke his thumb and one finger with a clean snap. The turian completed a final circuit around Pantak and stopped behind the chair, never stopping the rotation of his knife. Leaning his elbows on the headrest the turian stopped the knife with a clink, the tip of the blade flying by the corner of Pantak’s eye.

“So who do you report to?” the turian asked the back of Pantak’s head. “How do they know when you’ve followed their orders?”

“I’m a recruiter,” Pantak panted, his hanging fingers twitching. “It changes.”

Scott leaned closer to hear the salarian's quiet responses. All he needed was something plausible to feed the turian until he thought of something better, and if Pantak's answers overlapped with anything the Tempest crew had forgotten to censor, Scott could start working on a way to use it to his advantage. Scott would worry about appeasing Keema and the Charlatan for the sin of survival once he and Jaime were safe.

“And you send recruits…where?” the turian lightly ran the end of his knife over the curve of Pantak’s horn. “How do _they_ get orders?”

“I don’t know,” Pantak flinched as a thin cut appeared under the blade. “I…I send the name of the recruit, and they get their assignments.”

“And who recruited you?” the turian drew a whorl of seeping blood over Pantak’s skin.

“A human. A female, I don’t know her name,” Pantak twitched. “She just called herself Roster.”

The turian chuckled wryly before the knife drove down with a savage slam from the turian’s hand, leaving the hilt sticking above the blade’s length piercing through the skin and cartilage of Pantak’s horn and into the chair under his head. Pantak screeched as green blood spurted from the wound and ran down his head in shining trails. Plucking at the hilt of the knife as he left the blade in place, the turian clicked unhappily. Shivering with dread, Scott glanced down as Jaime snuffled and twitched sluggishly. Not now, Scott had never planned to beg Jaime to stay unresponsive. Cupping her head into his chest, Scott curled around her carefully, turning his shoulder as a barrier towards the outer bars.

“Stop whining, it’s barely a scrape,” the asari ordered.

Pantak’s eyes rolled upwards to the knife pinning him in place as he sucked a whimper down. Scott looked to the other prisoners, gulping against vomit at the image of Pantak's blood bubbling up against the knife’s guard . Tejna stayed in her corner, the human man hunkering in the other back corner while a female turian picked at her claws against the back wall. All three were watching the proceedings without a sound, perfectly still as Pantak’s pale skin was dyed green.

Jaime twitched again, the heat of her breaths soaking through Scott’s shirt as he pressed her against him to keep still. Her breathing was faster, shuddering from a lethargic crawl into coughs and feverish mumbles. Scott’s pulse and shallow breaths merged with Jaime's into a fog that drowned out Pantak’s softer whimpers, paralyzing Scott against the clawing panic climbing into his chest. 

_I lied, sis, I need you_ ** _out_** , Scott prayed. 

“No subordinates, no superiors,” the turian held his hand out to accept a fresh knife from the salarian as he continued his conversational questioning. “No way to personally confirm your effectiveness. What would stop someone from issuing their own orders? Unless someone knows what makes them the _right_ orders?”

“People try,” Pantak agreed with the turian. “They don’t live long.”

“The ones that get caught,” the turian suggested.

“Ye…yes…” Pantak tried to move and squeaked as his skin tore against the edge of the knife.

The turian held up a hand when the asari moved to grab Pantak. Yanking the knife out of Pantak’s horn on his way by, the turian flicked drops off as he paced. Scott watched the thin streaks reaching for his cell, pulling Jaime with him until his spine ground against the wall and tucking Jaime’s twitching hands between their bodies. The cloying smell of fresh blood drifted into the cells, coating Scott in the putrid sensation of fear.

“No way to make sure you’ll get paid, or get the right job done,” the turian thought aloud. Stopping in front of Pantak, the turian maintained, “No one is that desperate or gullible.”

“I’m, I’m just a recruiter,” Pantak turned his head as the turian approached, changing the trail of blood across his cheek. “Cells work differently. Representatives, some of them-“

“Where would we find one of these cells?” the turian asked.

“I _don’t know_ ,” Pantak wriggled apologetically. “We’re kept separate, so we can’t…”

“You never heard anything? You’re information brokers, aren’t you?” the turian coaxed softly. 

“We all heard there was a base in the mountains,” Pantak offered shakily. “But it was like a legend, it was _there_ , but the badlands, it’s too dangerous to look.”

“We all?” the turian snapped.

Pantak froze. The turian’s knife resumed its maddening twirling cycle, catching the light for the whole room to see. Jaime turned against Scott’s chest, groaning into Scott’s palm as he slid it over her mouth before he considered the motion. Jerking up his knees to jostle Jaime through her turn, Scott pressed his cheek to his sister’s hair, breathing into her ear, “Stay still. Stay still, stay still…”

“I heard it around,” Pantak squirmed. “Some of the guards, they talked about it, near Keema’s, near the…near the…base.”

“Names,” the asari snapped. 

“Kristoff,” Pantak twisted, jerking away from the knife. “And…Avshona, and…and…”

“Get him up,” the turian snapped harshly.

The asari and salarian leapt to comply, yanking open the restraints on the arms and legs in practiced synchronization. The asari threw Pantak to his knees, sitting solidly on the struggling salarian’s back as the turian approached.

“No! No, nonononono,” Pantak’s knees crunched against the floor.

Scott looked down at the feeling of Jaime blinking against his fingers, her shoulders shaking while her chest jumped into rapid pants. Scott pressed his palm against her mouth as she tried to speak, pulling her body behind his. His own heart twisted against his chest as he felt Jaime's arms twist and her mouth move against his hand until her teeth caught his skin in a thwarted bite. Shooting a look at Tejna, Scott willed Jaime to quiet before she drew their attention.

“Ssshhh, sssshh, ssssshhh, it’s me, just me, stay still,” Scott promised under Pantak’s yelps. Tapping his fingers against Jaime's shoulders to focus her attention, Scott begged as loudly as he dared, “You have to stay still and _quiet_.”

_I am attempting to calm the Pathfinder, Scott_ , SAM interjected.

Jaime froze, her wide eyes darting from side to side as she listened to SAM.Jaime swallowed queasily, her mouth moving more softly against Scott’s hand as she shook. Outside the cell, the salarian grappled with Pantak’s flailing feet while the turian strapped a bar to Pantak's hock joint. Peeling his hand away from Jaime’s mouth and hoping that she didn’t puke, Scott leaned back to catch Jamie’s eyes. Jaime's eyes stopped vibrating to stare up at him in blessed recognition, unraveling Scott's knotted stomach.

“Hi,” Scott mouthed, patting Jaime’s head softly and wiping water from the corner of her eye. “Don’t move.”

Jaime barely nodded her head in confirmation, digging her fingers into Scott’s shirt as they shook together. The turian vigerously tightened the strap tying the metal bar Pantak’s hock joints, leaving the metal bar spanning from one of Pantak's legs to the other. Tugging the bar to straightened both of Pantak's legs, the turian straightened up and considered Pantak coolly.

“You tried those names two days ago,” the turian informed mournfully. “They’re dead or gone.”

“That’s not my fault!” Pantak reasoned frantically. 

“No. But it also means you’ve given me nothing,” the turian informed. “Shame.”

Scott shut his eyes as the turian’s foot stomped down on the center of the bar connecting Pantak’s arched hock joints. Scott felt rather than heard Jaime gasp at the splintering crack of Pantak’s joints giving way under the bar. Pantak’s shriek echoed throughout the cavern, raw pain twisting it into something hardly humanoid. Scott opened his eyes and slammed them shut at the sight of Pantak’s blood coursing out from shreds of skin and muscle around fragments of bone and torn cartilage of the unnaturally straightened limb.

“It’s ok,” Scott tangled his hand with Jaime’s cold fingers to stay conscious. “It’s ok, keep still.”

Jaime’s knuckles popped against Scott’s from the tight grip. Scott heard the bars rattle as the other prisoners moved through the ragged screams.

“Give me something, Pantak!” the turian called over Pantak’s howls. “Give me something, and we can patch you up! I know you aren’t stupid enough to hold out for a ghost.”

Scott forced his eyes open, shushing Jaime to prove to himself that he could still breathe. The asari crossed her legs calmly from her perch on Pantak’s back as Pantak tried to crawl, dragging his ruined limbs behind him.

“I don’t _have_ anything,” Pantak sprayed spit with the sprinkles of blood on the floor. “I don’t have anything, you turian _bastard!!!_ ”

The turian knelt down front of Pantak, squeezing Pantak’s bleeding horn as he tilted the salarian’s head to look up at him. Pantak’s pale skin was painted green with flashes of ashen flesh between smears. The turian considered Pantaks dark eyes, deciding, “It’s so _disappointing_ when salarians are this dumb.”

Pantak’s struggles ended in the squelching croak of the asari’s knife running through his throat. Scott's gag was lost in the wet crunch of the twisted knife mangling Pantak's neck into ribbons as the asari reclaimed her knife. The turian dropped Pantak’s horn to let the salarian fall; seemingly unconcerned by the blood creeping over his boots, the turian turned to observe Scott.

“That’s who the Charlatan is,” the turian educated. “A coward who hides behind their ignorant pawns.”

Scott’s heart stopped as the turian kicked Pantak’s reaching arm aside to make his way to the Ryder twin’s cell. Scott heard Jaime panting for air while his own chest constricted tight to the sound of the cell door grinding open.

“Shit,” Scott felt Jaime’s curse more than he heard it.

“She’s still out,” Scott insisted, tightening his grip to hold Jaime still from their shared shaking.

_SAM, do something!!_ Scott begged, brushing his fingers over Jaime’s eyes to feel them close. 

_One moment, Scott_ , SAM replied politely.

Jaime squeezed Scott’s hand quickly, tensing under Scott’s hands before going completely slack. Scott dragged his hand to her neck, nearly bursting into tears of relief at the strong heartbeat to comfort him. Scott swallowed against the lump in his throat just as SAM informed, _I have rendered the Pathfinder unconscious at her request._

Scott wished that made him feel better as he kept his grip on Jaime as the turian stood over them. Poking his foot in Jaime’s direction, the turian carried the kick through to Scott’s knee when Scott tried to scoot away.

“Let’s be sure,” the turian coaxed, reaching for Jaime as the asari leaned in the door of the cell with a gun and the salarian dragged Pantak’s body to the side.

“She’s awake!” Tejna insisted through the wet squishes of Pantak’s blood spreading underfoot. “I saw her mov-“

“Shut up,” the asari ordered. “We can see for ourselves.”

Scott fought against the turian’s strong arms and rigid armor as the turian dragged Jaime out of his grip, jerking sharply to separate Scott’s hand from hers. Grunting shortly, the turian backhanded Scott’s cheek with his gauntlet as his omnitool lit up for a scan. Scott hunkered quietly as the scan ran, flinching at another displeased grunt from the turian. Jaime hit the floor in a heap as the turian dropped her carelessly, gesturing to Tejna and informing, “Glad you’re so chatty.”

Scott closed his hand around Jaime’s wrist as soon as the turian turned away from her. Her pulse was still strong under his hand, and her breathing was steadier than the laborious wheeze of the drugs or panicked gasps as she awoke. Scott's selfish wish for her to sit up and answer his questions would come later, Scott patted his sister's hand as he waited.

_Your sister is unharmed, though prolonged unconsciousness is unwise,_ SAM tried to reassure Scott as Tejna was dragged from her cell by the asari and salarian. _Delaying her interrogation has bought you…time._

Scott didn’t have a response for SAM as he watched the asari bully Tejna too her feet before buckling her into the chair still wet with Pantak’s blood. Leaving tracks of green blood on the floor as he resumed his circle, the turian seemed as energetic and collected as when he had walked into the chamber. Cora and the others had better work fast.

“We’re ok,” Scott lectured himself  and Jaime.  “We’re ok. We just have to be ok a little longer.”

  

* * *

 

Cora was going to have to deliver Reyes for Evfra’s punishment personally once this was over. Evfra had delivered on his promise to give the Tempest crew "Shena's" whereabouts within the hour; Reyes had refused to offer a solid location, and the Tempest crew had been milling about the Kadara market for more than an hour and a half with still no sign of the smuggler. Vetra and Drack were running out of deals to ponder, the dockworkers were starting to chase Liam off, and Jaal was starting to make Cora’s hair stand on end with his nervous energy.

“We should not have trusted him,” Jaal warned Cora as he glowered over the market. “He could have fled, we would never find him.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Cora pretended to browse a food vendor's wares as she wandered a short distance away from the charged angara.

“We’ll find him,” Peebee assured in their ears from her perch on the balcony above the market. 

Cora circled back to Jaal as the angara kept his vigil over the crowds filling the quare. Jaal had been in constant motion since shaking off the crew gathering in Ryder’s cabin. Suvi had pulled him out of the tech lab, still reeking of grease, as soon as Reyes’ email had chimed in Ryder’s inbox, and Jaal had spent the first hour of waiting circling the market at a tireless pace.

Cora envied him the escape. It had been some time since Cora had seen the heads of the Nexus of one mind about anything, but they had presented a unified front on the matter of the disappearance of the Pathfinder and “Alec Ryder’s son.” Even with Meridian, the Initiative could not afford to lose more symbols; the Ryders must be found. “Obviously,” as Addison had added beside Tann’s patronizing mutter and Kandros’ well-meaning order for speed and Kesh's mandated success. Cora had let the reprimands and orders from afar wash over her, imagining her biotic barrier deflecting the words before she let them personally sting. She kept her responses to the obedient script of a soldier: yes sir, of course ma’am, we’re already making progress, we’ll report any changes. All the right things that should keep her calm.

Under her shell of control, Cora tactical compartmentalization was failing her. The commandos and Alec alike had warned her that "aim for the best, prepare for the worst" was the motto that kept the most people alive. Cora should already be thinking of the possibility of the Tempest without the Ryder legacy. And she couldn’t. Jaime was more than “the Pathfinder” to the crew, Cora included, and Scott had mixed with the crew as if he had always been aboard. Cora had found Scott as different from Alec as Jaime was, uninhibited where his father would be reserved, sharing his sister’s humor and unbridled energy for the wonders of Andromeda. It had been infectious and reinvigorating to Cora after the endless months of work and stress. Nothing more than some comforting cuddling on vid night and a hurried moment behind equipment crates, but as Liam would say, “finally normal” in the foreign expanse of Andromeda. If she had just joined the siblings for the introductory drink, none of this…

“Just saw him,” Liam cut into Cora’s fretful thoughts. “He’s coming in from the docks, headed your way.”

Cora tugged Jaal’s rofjinn to keep him from bolting for the docks. If Reyes felt cornered or set up and fled, they would never get another chance. Vetra drifted away from the weapons stand she had been poking through, walking across the square as Reyes strolled into the market with a crate in his arms.

“What’s he up to?” Peebee asked, leaning farther over the railing to look down at Reyes in the crowd.

“Same thing we are,” Drack surmised as he stomped past Cora and shoved Jaal to stay still as Reyes neared them. “Blending in. Don't blow it.”

“We could just grab him,” Liam suggested fuzzily from his outpost at the docks.

“We don’t want to tip anyone off,” Vetra disagreed. “If we get Reyes noticed, he’s not going to appreciate it.”

“I don’t care,” Jaal informed all of them.

“Personally, me neither,” Vetra soothed, following Reyes’ trail as he stopped at the armor dealers. “But we need him to cooperate without Ryder here to make him.”

Jaal growled testily at the reminder, keeping his eyes firmly on Reyes as the smuggler dropped the mysterious crate on the counter of the armor vendor. Gesticulating dramatically, Reyes teeth flashed as he laughed loudly. Shaking his head, Reyes patted the crate proudly as he chattered to the scowling krogan. Reyes’ grin widened as the krogan typed something into their omnitool and waved a claw to the exit. Browsing his own omnitool as he wandered through the market, Reyes gradually veered into Cora, brushing past her shoulder and catching her eye.

“Hey!” Cora reached for Reyes’ sleeve.

“No harm from a bump,” Reyes jerked away from her sharply, backing away as he talked. “Not worth starting something over.”

“What do you think-“ Jaal stalked two steps toward Reyes.

“I think you should let this go,” Reyes ran his hand towards his knife. “Go find a fight elsewhere. I’ve got scrap to pick up. Take it up with Her Majesty if you’ve got a problem.”

Cora pulled Jaal back from springing on Reyes in his buzzing rage. Reyes flicked a dismissive salute at them, throwing a smirk to Cora as he walked away that she would have punched him for if he had still been in range. Reyes swung his arms in self satisfaction as he turned into an back alley by the shops.

“He’s heading for the service crawlspace,” Cora advised softly. “It’s a backdoor into 'Her Majesty's' the base.”

“We can punch him after this, right?” Peebee asked from above.

“If he doesn’t have anything helpful, we can punch him alot sooner,” Drack decided.

“We’ve got bigger problems,” Liam reminded. “Even bigger than that guy’s ego.”

“That says something,” Vetra agreed. “I’ll be back.”

“I’m coming with you,” Jaal twisted away from Cora’s hand.

“Give me a minute,” Vetra advised. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t give us the slip.”

“He’s here,” Peebee pointed out. “At least he showed up.”

Cora hoped Peebee realized how dismal that standard was. Vetra looped around to the market to the alley Reyes had ducked down, nodding to a vendor knowingly as she passed. Liam appeared in the market soon after, making conversation with a Collective guard as he watched Cora and Jaal. The minutes ticked up slowly, putting Cora on edge the farther Jaal tried to pace towards the alley.

“Peebee’s right,” Cora admitted to distract him. “If he wasn’t going to help, he wouldn’t have shown up. He likes Ryder.”

“He likes _himself_ more,” Jaal reminded gravely. “He has no integrity or loyalty.”

“He likes having friends in high places,” Drack reassured gruffly. “This could blow his arrangement with the Initiative stiffs.”

“Hmmmm,” Jaal grumbled doubtfully. “I would rather not depend on Reyes at all.”

“None of us would,” Liam reminded. “But we might have to.”

Jaal softened his defensive posture at the sound of Cora’s sigh. Squatting on Kadara waiting for Reyes to cooperate was a last resort none of the crew had ever hoped to stoop to, but desperate times led them into strange partnerships. Stooping below their ideal allies was a small sacrifice to pay if Reyes could shed light on who was responsible for the Ryders' disappearance.

“Ok, let’s go,” Cora urged when she couldn’t stand it anymore. “You three, make sure no one follows us too closely.”

“Aaaaw,” Peebee sighed, draping herself over the railing unhappily. “Ok.”

“Should be easy,” Drack sighed and made himself comfortable against a stack of crates.

“On it…Cora,” Liam promised with a moment of uncertainty Cora was loathed to notice. She was too happy to let Ryder call the shots, feeling the crew turn to her for the final word was painfully uncomfortable.

Cora angled her shoulder in front of Jaal to keep him walking as she led them down the alley, stopping on the service entrance Reyes and Ryder had mentioned during their forays into the former Outcast base. Punching in the entrance code and descending the steps into the stuffy service passage, Cora had never been happier to see Reyes leaning in the corner waiting beside Vetra.

“You’ll excuse the accommodations,” Reyes apologized wryly. “Returning to Tartarus was too big a gamble.”

“You know they were taken at Tartarus?” Jaal asked sharply. “We assumed, but…”

“Kian tipped me off,” Reyes admitted. “If they’re looking into Ryder, they could easily be watching for me. Rumor has it I’m a Collective ‘delivery boy.’”

“Did you start that rumor?” Vetra asked knowingly.

“I let it flourish,” Reyes shrugged casually. “Better people think you’re a servant than the man issuing the orders. It usually makes you less of a target. In theory. Circumstances have made it a less secure position recently.”

“That means you already knew the Pathfinder and Scott were in trouble,” Cora realized. “That’s why you wouldn’t give Evfra a solid meeting spot.”

Reyes’ nod was reluctant as he watched Jaal with just as much suspicion as Jaal radiated at him. The mutual dislike was not going to make cooperation easy to achieve or to maintain. Cora steeled herself to command a truce between the two men just before Reyes relaxed his apprehensive hunch. Picking at the buckles of his belt, Reyes’ typical bragging energy fizzled as he thought. 

“There’s been an increase in…displeasure, throughout the port in the last few weeks,” Reyes explained slowly, tapping his knuckles against his chin. “Negotiations with Tann and Addison aren’t going as expected. Malcontents have started taking it out on Keema’s guards and my representatives.”

“Why didn’t you tell Ryder?” Cora snapped with Jaal’s “You should have informed us” and Vetra’s “ _Now_ you tell us!”

“If I wrote to Ryder, the Pathfinder,” Reyes bunched his shoulders against Jaal’s scowl. “If I wrote Ryder every time squabbles broke out because of Tann or Addison’s latest snub, she wouldn’t have time to do her job anywhere else. Keema and I can usually diffuse the problem in a few days, but they’ve outdone themselves. They’re forbidding emigration to Meridian. I suppose Tann and Addison don’t want to go back on their sentence.”

Reyes said it as a revelation, leaving the Tempest crew members blinking at him. Movement from Kadara to the Initiative settlements had always been heavily restricted. Considering the extensive surveying and repairs that needed to be done to make Meridian stable, even “lawful” colonists were having to apply to transfer amidst the second wave colonists being integrated. Cora felt no surprise or sympathy for the plight of Kadara's residents.

“You’re still considered exiles,” Jaal pointed out. “It would be unwise for your Initiative to accept anyone who could be a risk to their population. We have the same policy on Aya.”

“That was the Initiatives logic,” Reyes agreed indulgently. “That doesn’t mean the people here will _like_ it. Since they can’t take it out on the actual problem, the Outcasts and their converts are taking it out on the nearest government they have. The Charlatan isn’t popular right now. Neither is the Pathfinder. Or the Ryder family, given Alec Ryder’s role in the migration here.”

“Then you should have _told_ Ryder,” Cora reiterated through Jaal’s furious rumble.

“If I had known she was coming to Kadara, I would have,” Reyes insisted. “But, as I said, telling Ryder the outlaws are shooting each other, they aren’t happy with the latest authority figure, and they don’t like the Initiative, isn’t news. I had my own work, it didn't seem urgent. And, usually the Pathfinder is armed to the teeth and I don’t have to worry about her.”

“Well, she and Scott weren’t planning on a fight,” Cora reasoned.

“And I didn’t expect Ryder to let herself lose one,” Reyes insisted, holding up his hand when Jaal lurched at him. “No offense meant, the malcontents got more reckless than I expected.”

“You should know better, shouldn’t you?” Jaal asked. “Considering your methods.”

Reyes’ eyes snapped dangerously at Jaal’s insinuation. Flashing his teeth in the guise of a cavalier grin, Reyes straightened up and paced past Jaal's nose as he talked. Vetra followed close on the smuggler’s trail to diffuse the palpable tension between the two of them.

“Fighting each other doesn’t get us anywhere,” Vetra reminded. “How does threatening the Pathfinder lead to convincing the Initiative letting outlaws into Meridian is a good idea?”

“Desperate times drive people to desperate acts,” Reyes sounded unfazed. “Transferring to Meridian would offer most outlaws the first chance for comfort and safety they’ve had since the Milky Way. As you can tell, the exiles are willing to sacrifice almost anything for that.”

“But how do the Ryders help with that?” Cora’s patience for Reyes’ philosophizing frayed. 

“Leverage. Multifaceted leverage,” Reyes enlightened. “It’s no secret that the Pathfinder helped take down Sloane and put Keema, and myself, in control of Kadara. If you want to find ‘the Charlatan,’ she’s one of the best shots the Outcasts can identify. They’d love to replace me and take a hard line with the Initiative.”

“Or,” Reyes held up his hand to cut Jaal and Cora off mid-inhale. “They’re taking the more direct approach of ransom.The Initiative would make a number of concessions to keep from losing yet another Pathfinder just after they seemed compitent.”

“This isn't the time for your egotistical ‘possibilities’ and ‘theories,’” Cora demanded.

“Keeping them for ransom is better for us,” Reyes advised, stepping away when Jaal growled. “Simple calculation: interrogation involves…physical intimidation.”

“Torture,” Vetra didn’t sugar coat it.

“If necessary. If they’re trying to force Ryder to tell them where I am…likely, since they won't believe she doesn't know,” Reyes nodded with an apologetic wince. “You can get more out of a ransom if you promise not to harm the captive. Then again, most outlaws have a flexible definition of ‘harm.’”

“Is this just an inconvenience for you?” Cora demanded with a squeak in her voice she hadn’t planned for. “Your newest story for your audience at the bar?”

Reyes cocked an eyebrow at Cora’s quivering anger. Widening his eyes in recognition, Reyes moved the look to Jaal as an electric charge prickled through the cramped space. Cora desperately wished to throw Reyes through the wall as the outlaw thought over Cora's question at a leisurely pace. Exhaling slowly, Reyes raised his hands in concession and resumed a compliant lean against the wall.

“It’s not. It’s just familiar,” Reyes explained without his smirk or chuckle. “They’re Kadara’s maneuvers for war. Lying about what you should be prepared for won’t help. As it is, I suggest we stop arguing semantics, and find Ryder and Scott as soon as possible.”

Cora didn’t catch a startled cough, her surprise shared in Jaal’s distrustful sneer and Vetra’s drumming fingers. Reyes bounced his hands expectantly, pointing up at the panel to exit the service shaft.

“You…actually want to _help_?” Vetra asked word by word. “Find them. Actively.”

“Is Evfra paying you?” Jaal added with an expansive incredulous stare.

Reyes' eyes flickered in the low light as he considered the questions with an aura of resentment. Even reprobates could take offense, apparently. Groaning under his breath and waving down the tense questions, Reyes shook his head.

“No, Evfra’s not, but don’t worry, it’s not entirely selfless,” Reyes comforted with his customary laugh. “I can’t tolerate continued attacks on the port or the settlement. And I doubt Ryder would be eager to continue our alliance if I sat back and left her and Scott in the hands of the Outcasts. It’s professionally, and personally, within my interests to help. Bottom line, for you: we find them faster. Bottom line for me: we find them, and I get rid of the Outcast problem.”

Reyes’ mouth pulled into a wolfish grin under burning eyes as he looked at his new allies. Vetra shifted her weight unhappily, sharing a reluctant nod with Cora and Jaal as they looked to the turian for a more objective decision. Jaal’s eyes narrowed in disgust at Reyes as the smuggler’s slouch turned into something poised and eager.In Cora’s gut, she accepted that Reyes could be a liability as easily as he could be an asset, but his cold pragmatism made sense. Refusing to help find Ryder all but guaranteed hostility from the Initiative later, and definitely solidified the Tempest crew’s loathing for him; Reyes liked keeping his options open when it came to resourceful allies. And given the unrest in his domain, if Ryder did reveal who he was, Reyes would be eager to eliminate the evidence personally. 

“How can you help?” Cora had to ask.

“I know the landscape. I know what territory the Collective definitively holds. And I have…ways to get information on the Outcasts that you need,” Reyes tilted his head towards the idea.

Sharing Jaal and Vetra's shudder, Cora knew that asking what that meant wouldn’t have an answer any of them wanted to hear. Reyes flicked his eyes to each of them, daring them to ask and place their moral standards above Jaime and Scott’s lives. Fighting down a convulsion of her conscience and Alliance training, Cora stayed silent next to Jaal's heavy contempt and Vetra's unhappy acceptance. Raising his chin as the crew remained shamefully silent, Reyes declared, “We have a lot of ground to cover. Ladies first.”

Reyes gallantly waved Vetra and Cora up the steps before him,, hurrying after them when Jaal loomed behind him at the angara's full height. Waving Cora and Jaal on while he stayed by Vetra, Reyes blended into the alleyway while Cora and Jaal entered the main square. 

“Where’s Vetra?” Drack demanded as the passed behind him.

“Keeping Reyes on his leash,” Cora assured to put the snarling krogan at ease. “He’s agreed to help.”

“Help in his way, or _actually_ help?” Liam asked and looked over Cora’s shoulder nervously for signs of Vetra or Reyes.

“Actually help. For his benefit, but real help,” Cora hated the static-filled pause on the comm as the others absorbed the details.

“And…we’re gonna trust him?” Peebee asked for all of them.

“No,” Jaal forbade the very idea before it could take root. “He can be useful. Not trusted.”

“Agreed,” Cora seconded the warning to mumbles of agreement from the others. “Let’s get to work.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ran long, so instead of dividing one chapter into a "Ryder Section" and a "Tempest Crew section" I split it into two chapters. The second part, about what Jaal, Reyes, and Co. are doing will follow shortly.

 

_Pathfinder, I apologize for any discomfort. Please move carefully._

Jaime opened her eyes with a herculean effort, complying with SAM’s advice out of necessity rather than obedience. Her head felt as if her brain and skull were colliding and her entire neck ached from trying to support her head at an angle. And that was just the pain above her shoulders. Her last memory, the rattle of the cell door opening as Scott shielded her, made her stomach burn, and her limbs were numb from lying on the frigid floor. 

_You’re still here_ , Ryder thought gratefully. With clear consciousness came a new level of comprehension that waking up to SAM’s input was not always a guarantee.

_These outlaws are using a scrambler similar to the device you discovered in William Spender’s apartment. Our connection is restricted, but stable. My scanning and communication capabilities remain severely limited while we are near the scrambler_ , _leaving me dependent on your sensory input_ , SAM explained, adding as an afterthought. _They have also confiscated your omnitools and weapons._

SAM’s matter-of-fact lecture droned through Ryder’s head as she gained her bearings. In addition to dark and rank, the room was cold, sending agonizing shivers through her stiff muscles.Absorbing the shadows of cell bars, Ryder patted the pile of cloth under her head. The makeshift pillow was an incongruous comfort that Jaime's brain couldn't reconcile. Turning slowly to look for answers, Jaime’s cheek ran into a bony knee. Past the knee, any trace of comfort vanished at the sight of Scott sitting--and snoring in his sleep--beside her.

Trying to lift her head from where Scott had propped it on his folded jacket, Jaime studied her brother. Scott’s head leaned crookedly against the wall as he dozed with one arm across his stomach while his other arm slid from Jaime’s shoulder as she moved. He was dirty, with an extra layer of stubble marring his usual neatly trimmed beard and a bruise spreading over the back of his neck to his shoulder from the strike of the salarian, but there seemed to be no fresh wounds.

“Scott?” Jaime whispered and pushed her head and shoulders up with both hands. 

_Scott has suffered no further injuries,_ SAM assured under Scott’s snoring. _He has been sleeping for some time._

“Is it night?” Ryder looked for any light source.

_It is 10:34 AM_ , SAM reported crisply. _You have been away from the Tempest for 13 hours. Lieutenant Harper has assumed command in your absence. A search effort is being organized._

Sitting up slowly to avoid disturbing Scott, Ryder stretched her neck and shoulders to a series of groans and cracks. Wiping off her mouth from the taste of old blood and alcohol, Ryder raked her fingers through the dried blood crusted through her hair above her ear. A couple inches lower and the turian could have crushed the hinge of her jaw under her heel, Ryder thanked fate for small miracles. Scott twitched and mumbled, frowning in his sleep with a shiver up his chest and neck.

“Scott,” Jaime mumbled. Shaking her brother’s shoulder as his eyelids twitched, Jaime risked a louder whisper. “Hey, Scott.”

Scott jerked awake. Ryder’s stomach kicked at the panicked expression tainting Scott's green eyes. Pure fear jumped from Scott into Jaime; she couldn’t remember ever seeing him have that look in the Milky Way. Gulping down a steadying dose of air, Ryder left a hand on his shoulder as her brother’s wild-eyed expression relaxed into relief. Shaking himself awake and rubbing his neck gingerly, Scott leaned forward to look at Jaime in the low light.

“You’re finally awake,” Scott sighed thankfully.

“Yeah. Thanks,” Jaime assured, tipping Scott’s head down to feel the bruise at the back of his neck.

“I’m a little jealous, you missed a killer hangover. Ah, ow,” Scott jerked his head away from Jaime’s fretful fingers. “All healed, but sore. It’s a patch job, to make sure we’re not bleeding out on their floor.”

“And we’re useful,” Jaime shuddered.

“Yeah,” Scott agreed gruffly. “Speaking of, here.”

Scott brushed off the back of his neck and reached to his other side. Scott looked worse awake than asleep. The panicked expression was gone, but it had been replaced by short mechanical motions. Ryder recognized the coping mechanism too well. Every Alliance trainer they'd had reinforced the lesson: panic took energy, adapting conserved it. Those trainers would be proud of Scott if they could see him. As proud of Scott as they'd disdain Jaime for being foolish enough to get them into this situation. 

Scott turned back, holding both hands out to Jaime. Jaime nearly swooned at the sight of a mug of water and a singular ration biscuit still tightly wrapped. Taking the mug of water that had the stink of poor filtration, Jaime’s stomach roared as Scott tore open the wrapper and offered her a bite. 

“Another patch,” Scott advised. “But it’ll help.”

A biscuit the size of Jaime’s hand also wouldn’t last very long for one person, let alone two. Jaime chewed her morsel slowly, waiting for Scott to start his share so she could pace herself accordingly. Seeing her hesitation, Scott dug into his pocket and held upthe crumpled wrapper of a second portion for himself. Guiltily nibbling the paltry meal as Scott watched her, Ryder tried to untangle her thoughts and right them into a plan. No omnitools, no guns, and the idea of using biotics left Ryder lightheaded. The life expectancy of anyone outside the port was low enough _with_ guns. Crumpling the wrapper into her fist, Jaime contained the urge to throw it. Pathfinders were not allowed to throw tantrums.

The human man stirred in the neighboring cell as the wrapper crinkled deafeningly in the silence, tipping his head to watch the twins passively before curling into himself. The female turian behind him poked her head up to inspect the Ryder twins and then lay down with an angry thump as soon as Ryder dropped the trash. The female angara slept alone, huddled in a ball without anything but an occasional twitch to indicate life.

“That’s Tejna,” Scott advised softly. “They gave her medigel, but she hasn’t moved since they put her back in the cell.”

“How long has she been down here?” Ryder’s stomach started to ache from the gulped water. 

“Dunno…awhile?” Scott admitted with an innocent ignorance Ryder envied. Nodding to the duo, Scott continued, “The guy’s Cole. Used to be a mechanic on the Nexus before they kicked them off. And she’s Egeria. That’s all I got from her.”

“Collective?” Jaime guessed, wiggling as the ache in her stomach settled further down. Crossing her legs to sit against the wall beside Scott, Jaime offered him a corner of the biscuit. 

“I guess,” Scott ignored the offering until Ryder popped the bite into her mouth. “Cole started talking while we were cleaning.”

“Cleaning?” Jaime wrinkled her nose at the crawling smell of the cells.

“Yeah…Pantak, th-the salarian, lost a lot of blood, the asari didn’t like stepping in it,” Scott dropped his voice even lower. “And it’s a good way to rattle us.”

Scott ducked his head and studied the floor between his knees as he said it. Ryder felt a convulsion through Scott’s shoulder, cracks in the methodical calm he had been so careful to adopt. Ryder nearly spit up her last bite of biscuit as she thought of Scott in the carnage she’d heard outside the cell before SAM had rendered her oblivious. Squinting down in the low light, Jaime recategorized the dark stains she had told herself was mud on Scott’s pants. Scott turned the shudder into a shrug as he looked at Jaime sideways. 

“Scott, I…I should have…shouldn’t have…” Jaime couldn’t decide which mistake she should have avoided the most before it had led them here.

“I’m ok,” Scott promised with a tight smile. Bumping shoulders with Jaime, Scott admitted, “A little shaken up, but they gave us water and food, and cleaning let me wash off some of the mud, so…yeah, we’re ok.”

Scott swallowed uncertainly but kept smiling. The smile stabbed into Jaime’s conscience and twisted. Scott always smiled to lighten tension when Jaime couldn’t, ever since they were kids. The only time Scott hadn’t managed to fake a smile was after their mother had “died.” 

“We’re gonna get out of here,” Jaime promised, reaching to hug Scott and losing her nerve. “If I…if I have to biotically smash us out, we _will_ get out of here.”

“I know. Who knows, maybe the crew will beat us to it and smash their way in,” Scott agreed. Brushing his thumb over Jaime’s temple experimentally, Scott frowned when Jaime wriggled against the sloshing in her stomach. Leaning back against the wall and looking around the cell hopelessly, Scott admitted, “I can see why Jaal hates this fucking place.”

The words twisted barbs into Jaime’s heart. Jaal would be worried sick, wondering where Ryder could possibly have disappeared to in thehellscape of Kadara. Ryder’s conflicted attachment to Kadara was one of the few things that still baffled Jaal to the point of flustered short-temperedness. Ryder’s throat tightened at the thought of her ship and the shelter of her cabin where she could burrow into her blankets with Jaal next to her while the noises of the crew drifted past her door. Blinking back watering eyes, Ryder crossed and uncrossed her legs desperately. Damn it, she should have paced her drinks.

“You ok? I mean…considering?” Scott looked over as she squirmed.

“Yeah,” Ryder sniffed, drawing up her knees to support her chin and regretting the pressure on her bladder. 

“Sorry,” Scott mumbled and leaned apologetically against her. “I shouldn’t have said that, about Jaal.”

“It’s not that, you’re right,” Ryder wiggled her toes as Scott looked her over skeptically.

“Are you cold?” Scott offered Jaime his jacket.

“No,” Ryder mumbled into her arms. “I have to…”

Scott raised his eyebrows quizzically, blinking when Ryder hissed out between her teeth and wriggled. Blinking in understanding, Scott admitted, “Yeah…we have a patch for that too. Well, a bucket, We have a bucket.”

Scott’s knees cracked as he stood and waited for Ryder to join him. Hot embarrassment prickle over Jaime's skin in spite of the cold cell as her brother waited to escort her to whatever “bucket” meant. Scott waved his hand at the outline of a battered bucket dutifully waiting in the front corner of the cell. 

“Never mind,” Jaime decided. “I just drank too fast. I'm fine.”

Scott frowned doubtfully, watching as Ryder shifted her weight and bounced on the balls of her feet in a last attempt to banish the stomach ache. Scott sighed, prompting irritably, “You’ve had to go in the field before, right? It’s dark. No one’s gonna see you. And I’ll stand…over there.”

Scott pointed toward the joining bars of the cell, between the bucket and where the others were sleeping. Ryder whined to herself, reluctantly tugging open her belt. Scott hurried away, standing with his back to Ryder as she nudged down her pants and stood over the bucket. She had had to improvise in the field before, but usually she had a rock, or bush, or dune to duck behind. She wasn’t in a cage like an animal waiting for outlaws to decide how best to bleed her for profit. 

_Pathfinder…_

_Not_ ** _now_** _, SAM,_ Ryder begged, wiping stinging eyes with her sleeve. _Please._

SAM lurked respectfully at the back of Ryder’s head, feeding her information in an almost unconscious exchange. The Outcasts were holding them underground on Kadara and... Ryder waited hopefully more information to turn into an escape plan. There was none. Damn it, Ryder angrily rubbed her eyes.

Ryder hastily yanked her pants closed when she caught sight Cole sitting up and stretching. Cole jerked to look in her direction at the clink of her belt, staring through the darkness for an instant before ducking his head and shooting a look at Scott's threatening cough. Egeria swatted at Cole as he stood up and stumbled away. Fresh humiliation seeped over Jaime as she finished buckling her belt. It was a stupid time to worry about appearances or hygiene or dignity, Ryder lectured herself as she swallowed down bile. Scrubbing her hands off on her pant legs, Ryder was grimly glad her crew wasn’t seeing how low their Pathfinder could sink. 

“You good?” Scott glanced at Jaime’s tap on his shoulder.

“Mostly,” Ryder nodded.

“You’ll get over it,” Cole advised as he tugged his own pants straight while he wandered over from the far corner of his cell. Leaning his forehead against the bars to inspect the twins, Cole added flatly, “Interestin’ way to finally meet you, Pathfinder.”

Ryder nodded awkwardly to the unimpressed acknowledgment. Cole was older than she had expected, his face showing age lines even through the shadows. Gaunt weariness must be adding years, Ryder guessed from the stains on Cole’s face and the loose hang of his filth stained garments. Cole coughed coarsely in the twins’ faces, devoid of energy or embarrassment. Egeria grumbled in defeat and rose, stalking to Tejna and nudging her with a foot. The angara stayed still, barely twitching away from the turian’s sharp kick. Egeria clicked irritably and kicked Tejna harder, triggering a tired groan from the silhouette. 

“Up. Get up,” Egeria ordered, tugging Tejna to a sitting position.

Cole sucked his teeth as Tejna pulled herself up by Egeria’s arm. The angara woman leaned heavily on the turian even after she was upright, her legs visibly wobbling. The turian shook the angara off quickly and retreated to her own corner to glare at Cole’s back and the Ryders past it.

“She’s a complete pussy cat under the spikes,” Cole chuckled, purring mockingly to Egeria’s scoff.

“Shut up, Cole,” Egeria ordered in contradiction. “Hey! Eyes open, Tejna, you’re starting to grow mold.”

“Skutting stars, you’re insufferable,” Tejna spat, butshe lurched away from the wall to pace under Egeria’s supervision.

“You’re Collective?” Ryder asked in the resentful pause. Cole nodded while Egeria shook her head forbiddingly. “How’d they get you?”

“Same way they got you, I’m guessin’,” Cole observed. “I went out for a smoke and woke up here with a concussion and some turian prick asking where the mountain base is.”

“Do you know?” Ryder had to ask.

“Well, _someone_ helped build and power that thing,” Cole observed noncommittally. “But me, well, I’m stationed in the port.”

“And you?” Jaime turned the question on Egeria.

“I might have heard of it on patrol,” Egeria shrugged. “Shame all of these mountains look the same.”

“Why not just tell them?” Scott asked, crossing his arms tensely.

Cole and Egeria shared a look and Tejna grunted scornfully at the question. Considering Scott thoughtfully, Cole scratched the corner of his mouth and flicked the result in Scott's direction.

“‘Cause there’s one thing that’s keeping us interesting and alive, and it’s not my looks and her charm,” Cole snorted harshly when the twins took a step away from him. “My life might be in the shit, but I survived krogan and the trip here and I’d like to live to have another beer, maybe a root if I’m lucky. We just have to stall until the Collective hits this den.”

“You might be waiting awhile,” Ryder warned grimly at the thought of Reyes’ absence. 

“I’d rather bet on the patrols than sign off on our own execution,” Egeria reasoned. “Making it easy for the Outcasts isn’t in my job description.”

“Point taken,” Scott admitted reluctantly.

“Besides, this way we got to meet the Pathfinder,” Cole proclaimed with a skeptical look at Jaime. “Wait’ll the boys here _that_ one, eh?”

Ryder didn’t think the mocking boast was a compliment. Cole licked his lips with a dry rasp and ran his hand up and down the cell bar with a restless rustle of skin against metal. Staring at the hollows under Cole’s cheekbones, Jaime marveled at the weight of the biscuit in her stomach. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask how long they had been down here, but the question filled her with dread. Cole flicked his look to Scott. Scott scratched his chin uncertainly, brushing off his hands while Cole studied him.

“Pantak was a small guy. They had a krogan here for a few days,” Cole informed Scott gleefully with a satisfied thump of his shoulder against the bars. “Those fuckers really bleed.”

“…makes sense,” Scott swallowed hard.

“So,” Cole continued to Ryder without acknowledging Scott’s displeasure. “You have a way out of here, Pathfinder? A Remnant rescue squad you can pull out of…some place?”

Cole combed his eyes up Ryder and smirked at her mute discomfort. The legend of Ryder’s Remnant fleet had spread uncomfortably fast after the battle for Meridian. SAM ran the variables automatically in response to the question, reaching the obvious conclusion of impossibility. Egeria straightened up to listen and Tejna stopped her pacing to eavesdrop from the center of the cell. Jaime tried to ignore the feeling of Scott looking to her with a quiet hope that died before he had finished turning his head. 

“I’m working on it. My crew is looking for us,” Ryder reasoned before the silence stretched further. Scott nodded in agreement and tipped his chin up.

“I’ll bet,” Egeria interjected snidely and pointed at the Ryders. “You’d make, what, four…and a half…Pathfinders lost since we got here? Hell of a leadership.”

“And the Charlatan’ll want to keep them from prying anything out of you,” Cole finished. The skeptical glint in Cole’s eyes was slowly replaced with calculating interest. “I can see advantages to having you around, even if you don’t pack Remnant cavalry."

Cole pushed himself away from the bars as the door grated open. Ryder’s eyes burned from the sudden bright light and Scott peered out from behind his arm at the sound of footsteps. 

“Get up, Tejna,” Egeria hissed softly at where Tejna had resumed a silent hunker. “Up!”

Ryder forced herself to stand straight as Tejna struggled up on quaking legs. Scott brushed his hair back with shaking fingers and tugged his clothes straight before standing tall in the dank cell with his shoulder resting against Jaime’s for support. Jaime squashed a childish instinct to take Scott’s hand, the way they had linked hands as children to stay together in the dizzying push and pull of Citadel crowds. Cole cocked an eyebrow at the their posture as he sank to sit against the back wall in a heap. Egeria stood cockeyed beside his shoulder.

The Outcast turian slowed to a stop in front of the trios’ cell; his neck twisted to see past the bars as if he was merely gawking at a mildly surprising discovery, his expression hidden by a helm. An asari joined him, similarly covered in armor except the flashes of bright purple skin peeping out from under loose gauntlets. 

“Glad to see everyone’s conscious today,” the turian tilted his head in Tejna’s direction before swiveling to look at Ryder. “Anyone feel like sharing?”

Beyond a displeased grunt from Egeria the cells were silent. The turian’s shoulders heaved in disappointment. 

“Tejna? A few numbers for a few minutes of sun?” the asari fixed her look on Tejna’s swaying form. “Not a bad deal.” 

“Am I outside before or _after_ you kill me?” Tejna asked scornfully.

The asari chuckled without a denial. Leaving the asari staring Egeria down at the cell door the turian drifted to stand in front of the Ryders’ cell. Scott settled his weight back as the turian looked at the two of them with his figure framed between the bars. Jaime caught the jiggle of his knee and spasm of his shoulders without having to look. Scott didn’t intimidate easily, and the turian had him jittery with a passive look. Jaime hated the turian for that.

“Not just awake, but lining up,” the turian observed in amusement. “Only fair, you kept us waiting.”

“I guess I forgot to set an alarm,” Ryder felt the loathing she usually reserved for the kett start to numb her. “Sorry.”

“We were starting to wonder if they hit you too hard,” the turian said the words apologetically to offset his testy twitch. “Humans have so many soft parts…”

“Is that why your thugs beat us and kicked me in the head?” Ryder’s irritation swelled.

Then she felt Scott flinch. An uneasy roll of his shoulders as he brushed fingers over his wrist where his omnitool should be that caused the branching fear to burrow outward from Jaime’s stomach. 

_They have confiscated all of your equipment. I can find no immediate alternatives_ , SAM confirmed Ryder’s sickening reminder to herself.

Ryder prompted SAM for a pump of adrenaline and used the jolt to reassess her clumsy strategy. This wasn’t a fight; threats and jibes wouldn’t rattle the turian, change his resolve, or tip the odds in the Ryders' favor. They needed weapons and tools for a fight and escape, and beyond their drained biotics, they had nothing. No, Ryder corrected herself with a shudder and a glance at Scott. After all, they had a rapidly filling bucket. 

Ryder’s eyes shot to Cole and Egeria. Cole had crossed his legs crookedly and Egeria's shoulders were settled against the grooves of the wall without a trace of her previous tension. Scott was silent, even measuring the sound of his breathing as he moved his eyes from the turian to Jaime and back. No one was looking to Ryder for answers; the turian commanded their attention. Jaime softened her posture to rest her shoulder against Scott’s. Preservation was the strategy for now. Combat would have to wait.

“Yes, she was rougher than necessary,” the turian admitted curtly. “But the medigel should have taken care of any residual damage or pain. Did you eat?”

The casual inquiry took Ryder by surprise. This was not the opponent—captor—she had expected from the demanding roars during the interrogation. 

“Yes,” Ryder responded when she saw the turian reach for the door. “Do you have any more water?”

“Get water,” the turian ordered the asari.

“Are you…?”

The turian nodded his head at the corridor, calmly readjusting his chest piece as the asari obeyed. Ryder met the turian’s sharp eye through the tint of his helmet, reminding herself to stand still under his watch. In contrast to the shouting and pacing Jaime had woken up to, the turian was calm and collected in the harsh lights while the prisoners around him stayed cowed and silent. 

_SAM? Any idea who this guy is?_ Ryder asked hopelessly.

_Unknown,_ SAM apologetically gave Ryder the biological information he could process through her eyes.

The turian held the stare as the asari hastened back with a single mug. Jaime tried to ignore the cold sweat wetting the back of her neck as the turian selected a key and jerked open the cell door. The asari rested the butt of her pistol on her wrist while her finger hooked around the trigger and the muzzle angled at Scott.

“We should have a chat, Pathfinder,” the turian announced. Scott glanced at Jaime out of the corner of his eye, popping his knuckles nervously against his arm. Noticing that Ryder hadn’t moved, the turian clarified, “Out. Now.”

“Both of us?” Jaime wasn’t sure what answer she was hoping for.

“No. Just you,” the turian wiggled a claw at Jaime’s nose until she took a step forward. “Your brother can wait.”

“Where are we going?” Jaime fought the urge to step back into the relative shelter of the shadows. 

The turian reached for her and Ryder planted her feet. Two steps ahead of Scott, and Jaime couldn't bring herself to go further. Clenching his claw in the thin air Ryder would have stepped into, the turian let go of the door and turned towards the twins.

“I’m not leaving Scott here,” Ryder jerked her chin at the poised asari.

“You won’t have to,” the turian’s words grated impatiently. Ryder stiffened as the turian finished his foiled grab, locking his claw firmly around Ryder’s elbow and steering her out the door.

Ryder obediently followed the turian’s pull before he came into the cell and cornered them. Scott brushed Ryder’s opposite elbow as she stepped out of reach, though he stayed back with the asari’s gun on him. The turian drew Ryder out of the cell and slung her towards the chair in the center of the room. His grip was firm but not strong enough to be painful and he released Ryder as soon as she dropped into the open seat. Ryder coughed at the smell of sulfur, piss, mildew, and sickly sharp antiseptic emanating from the cracked leather. Smears of different colors collided over the chair's surface, coating Ryder's skin in a film of disgust and anxiety.

The cell door slammed shut and Ryder braced herself for the restraints to snap over her wrists.The turian circled out of sight to her left and the asari away to her right, daring Ryder to try something. The prisoners were moving too, stealthily creeping forward to get a better view of the inevitable. Scott stayed fixed on Jaime, his green eyes snapping in the light while his knuckles turned white around the bars. Ryder wondered if she looked as pale as he did, with her stomach trying to float out through her chest and her pounding head hammering out any cohesive plan. 

_Don’t let him do anything stupid_ , Ryder instructed SAM.

_I will attempt to keep Scott calm,_ SAM assured. Ryder saw Scott’s blink as SAM passed something to him. Loosening his grip on the bar and pressing his lips together firmly, Scott glanced over Jaime’s shoulder before letting a weak biotic field flash over him. Scott’s biotics had always been quicker to recharge than Jaime’s, a fact that usually annoyed her and currently terrified her. Jaime twitched her head to the side sharply to hide her frightened shiver and forbid the desperate idea. Scott couldn’t waste the energy he had and risk antagonizing them. Besides, it was better if their attention was on her for now.

Ryder’s stomach nearly made its escape when the turian kicked the bench out into her field of vision and sat down with a clatter. Ryder’s pulse lurched in relief at the sight of the mug of water the turian extended to her. The courtesy was warped by the turian’s keen stare over the mug dissecting Ryder’s every motion. Waiting until her fingers stopped shaking, Ryder accepted the mug and forced herself to take a placating sip that left a bubble tapped at the back of her mouth.

“I’m not surprised you’re thirsty,” the turian observed wryly. “Kian’s drinks pack a punch.”

“You…know Kian?” Ryder asked, her throat scraping itself at the thought of Kian plying her with drinks. Had she been so naive about Kadara as she lectured Scott, only to have Kian throw her to the wolves for an easy profit? The idea didn’t settle well with Kian’s strategic detachment from Kadara’s politics, but neither had the idea that Reyes was anything more than a skilled smuggler. 

“There’s only two bars in this sink hole, and limited hobbies,” the turian explained. Ryder wiped her damp hand through her hair in an attempt to scrub away the dried blood as the turian arched back in a lazy stretch. Straightening up with another clatter the turian leaned forward to look at Ryder. “But you’ve seen what Kadara has. You know that.”

“It must be stressful,” the turian continued while Ryder sipped to stall. “Overseeing Meridian _and_ trying to keep the outposts organized. Especially one so close to the Initiative’s dumping ground. Even Sloane stopped trying to fully control past the port.”

The cold observation accompanied a cutting glare through the visor. Ryder could remember Sloane’s recruitment policy all too well as the turian looked at her: Sloane only surrounded herself with people who had proven their loyalty. This turian had probably known Sloane, professionally if not personally, maybe even followed her from the Nexus or trained under Kaetus. Ryder could feel the asari watching her closely, copying the turian’s easy slouch while her hand remained tightly clasped around the pistol.

“Christmas Tate is doing a good job,” Ryder reasoned. “And the port is happy for more trade.”

“Yes, the Initiative brokered that deal with the Collective practically overnight,” the turian accused in jagged syllables.

“Keema wanted a strong alliance,” Ryder reasoned automatically. "She-"

“But Keema is a figurehead, everyone knows that,” the turian reminded before Ryder had finished. “Appealing to the angara and eloquent for diplomacy, but she didn’t have the inroads with the Initiative exiles you’d need to organize the Collective.”

“The Collective has angara,” Ryder evaded, looking at the turian instead of Scott as her brother shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“In the lower ranks,” the turian nodded, tugging the holster at his back and freeing a curved blade. Ryder started to sweat again, only feeling sicker when she saw Scott straighten up and crane to see the turian’s hand. Rotating the knife in his palm, the turian continued, “But the officers we’ve encountered are mostly human and asari. Some turians and salarians. A krogan or two. But not Keema’s sycophants.”

Ryder didn’t contain a jump as the turian stuck the knife into the bench to punctuate his point. It hadn’t been hard, a mindless gesture the turian hardly put energy into. Intimidation without a passing consideration on his part. The asari snickered from her seat across from the turian, shooting a look at Scott suspiciously. 

“The best we can guess, the Charlatan is a human or salarian. Those are the most popular rumors,” the turian angled the observation toward Cole, Tejna, and Egeria. “That’s where you come in.”

The turian stood up and towered over Ryder. He was tall even for a turian and his armor added a layer of bulk around his slender frame. He was big and he knew it, Ryder decided, and he naturally used that advantage to exude control without snapping until he had too. Taking the mostly full cup out of Ryder’s hands and setting it out of reach, the turian leaned over Ryder until she imagined his helm fogged over from her breath.

“I want you to tell me who the Charlatan is, where I can find them, and help us get off this festering rock,” the turian continued in a rattle that made Ryder’s shiver turn into a shake. “ _Pathfinder_. That’s all I need.”

Ryder shrank back in her seat until her shoulders hurt, drawing away as the turian trapped her in the chair with a claw on each of her wrists. He was still careful not to hurt her, leaning on her wrists until he felt her tense and leaving the pressure there. Looking under his arm to the cells, Ryder saw Cole and Egeria watching her closely, Egeria venomously and Cole with a newly nervous flick to his eyes. Tejna was curled in the corner again, seemingly oblivious to the proceedings.

_What’s the likelihood that he’ll execute them as soon as he has what he wants?_ Ryder asked SAM to avoid answering the obvious herself.

_Unknown_ , SAM admitted. _However, given the execution of Pantak, the likelihood is high._

Glancing to the other cell, Jaime nearly choked at the sight of Scott watching her, one hand tight around the bar while he clenched and unclenched the other hand nervously. One eyebrow jumped up in a question that Jaime had been carefully avoiding for as long as she could. How much was she willing to gamble that there would be a miracle rescue for all of them before this turian asked too much? 

“I meet with Keema to discuss Kadara,” Ryder groped for a solution as she babbled at the turian’s helm to buy time. Flecks of her spit dotting the slick metal while sweat pooled at her forehead and temples. She saw the turian’s eyes dart to follow a wayward drop of perspiration as it left a chilly trail down her ear. “I’ve…yeah, I’ve talked to representatives, but what makes you think I know _the real_ -“

“Because everyone knows you killed Sloane for them,” the turian’s triumphant purr mixed with a wrathful snarl. “And I’m guessing that’s a big enough favor to get you an audience with _the real_ Charlatan. Isn’t it?”

It wasn’t a guess, and Ryder’s chest shook from the quiet thunder of the turian’s pinpointed rage. Her chest hurt from the closeness of the turian’s body, her muscles aching at the mere suggestion of his restrained strength.Looking past the turian to keep from seeing her fear reflected in the metal, Jaime could read Scott’s apprehension in the twitch of his cheek and the quick nibble he stole to the corner of his mouth as an outlet for his stress.

_SAM? Do we have any idea where Reyes really is?_

_I do not have a current location. However, Mr. Vidal has agreed to aid your crew in their attempts to find you,_ SAM reported. 

_Reyes agreed to help_? They were in even bigger trouble than Ryder had wanted to admit if Reyes was willing to stick his neck out.

_He considered it a tactical risk_ , SAM assured.

Ryder absorbed this barrage of news during a blink and a nervous gulp. Even if she gave the turian Reyes’ name, she had no way to find him from here if he decided to disappear. Ryder didn't doubt that Reyes would cut and run as soon as the hunt for him started, and Ryder would be lucky to get a backward glance. Now she was back to square one, and the turian’s grip was tightening around her arms until one of her wrists stung. Cole had leaned forward over his crossed knees, his thumb tapping a frantic beat against his chin. Egeria met Ryder’s eyes for an instant, a fresh edge of hostility cutting through the shadows. Obsolete hostages were hardly worth keeping, Ryder considered the green tinge Pantak’s blood had left on the headrest beside her cheek.

“I didn’t kill Sloane,” Ryder forced the words out, adding quickly when her wrist bones ground against the turian’s hand, “I went with Sloane, but I didn’t…the Charlatan already had something set up. The Collective was already waiting.”

It was close enough to the truth, and Ryder's audience wasn’t expecting that. Cole’s spine sprang straight and Egeria's mandibles flexed doubtfully, but Ryder could feel doubt sully the fear the turian had maintained since he’d entered. Ryder flinched as his grip jerked tight and loosened in an unconscious tic of annoyance. Ryder responded with an involuntary gasp into her compressing chest that she loathed. Scott noticed, innocently tightening the vice as he uneasily paced to get a better look at her. 

“But the Charlatan was there!” the turian’s bark demanded Ryders attention. “They arranged the meeting, we know they called the meeting.”

Ultimately true, but Ryder caught the questioning tightness of the turian’s muscles through his grip. This was why they needed her; she was the highest Collective connection they could find. They had gotten their hands on someone high enough in the hierarchy to witness Sloane’s demise personally and ramble sparse specifics that led them to her. Or more likely, Ryder realized the longer the turian waited for confirmation, they had found someone ready to parrot the stories Reyes constantly spread for camouflage. Tall tales of the Pathfinder cutting down the Roekaar before finishing Sloane, or maybe the Pathfinder turning mercenary for the right price, while Reyes disappeared into the shadows behind her fame. He was a clever bastard, Ryder admitted to herself, and more often than not it paid off. Trying not to dwell on Reyes’ actual intentions or the knowledge that he would be proud of her scheming, Ryder had to thank him for always keeping the truth shrouded in embellishments and misdirection. 

“There was a whole crew,” Ryder continued, staying with the truth she knew for as long as possible. “A couple humans, a salarian I think, maybe an asari…one of them, a human, killed Sloane from a lookout, but I, I never spoke to him, I don’t know if he was…”

The truth was rarely what anyone wanted on Kadara. Ryder flinched with genuine conviction as the turian hissed angrily in her face. This was the captor she had sensed outside the cell, the dangerous presence that used pain and fear to wrench information from his target. 

“But I talked to a couple of them! This asari, named Lynx,” Ryder could hear Lynx’s endless complaints about confinement while she and Crux supervised the base in Draullir. “I saw some salarian prepping s shuttle outside…And a woman, a human, named…Crux! She, um, Crux, Crux is the one who asked for my help.”

_For an entirely different job…_ Ryder saw Egeria stiffen in recognition.

“Crux?” the turian repeated, dangerously soft as his helm nearly brushed Ryder’s nose. 

“Yeah…I ran into Lynx in the badlands. I thought she’d shoot at us like the other outlaws, but she said the Charlatan wanted me alive,” Ryder looked back on her own stupidity. “Then she sent me to Crux.”

SAM slowed Ryder’s hammering heartbeat and decreased her sweating before Ryder had to prompt, masking Ryder’s nervous fibs. The foundation was true, giving Ryder time to tweak the false details without getting lost in a fabrication. The ability made Ryder’s skin crawl, but the turian loosened his grip on her wrists and slowly straightened his elbows and knees.

“I don’t know if Crux is the Charlatan. I asked, but she said only Collective leaders got to know 'who the Charlatan really is,'” Ryder finished through genuine pants of relief now that the turian had leaned away. “But she seemed in charge.”

The turian stood upright, leaving Ryder to stare up at his chest and the underside of his chin as he thought. The asari waited in quizzical silence, swinging her foot against the bench and alternating between studying the turian and the prisoners.

The cells were subdued. Cole steepled his fingers over his knees as he resumed a crumpled slouch against the wall. Egeria hadn’t moved since Ryder had started talking, but her glower no longer cut Ryder to the bone, and she tore her look away to check on Tejna when she caught Ryder watching her. 

Even Scott had stopped fidgeting. He stood at perfect attention and was listening with a carefully flat expression when the asari looked at him. He had heard the bones of these stories, but the cave, Sloane’s death, and Ryder’s involvement were new details. Somehow, Jamie desperately wanted Scott to look surprised by them—not grimly expectant. 

“Crux?” the turian echoed into Ryder’s thoughts.

“Yeah,” Ryder confirmed through a dry mouth. “Crux gave me jobs.”

The turian scuffed his heels against the floor as he walked to the bench and jerked out the waiting knife. Scraping the edge clean against the arm of his armor, the turian declared, “That’s a start.”


	4. Chapter 4

 The unity of crisis was a powerful thing. It was also the sole consolation of having Reyes aboard. Faced with the personification of chaos, the crew had devoted their nervous energy to preparations. Suvi and Cora compiled the little data they had to present to the Nexus officials, distracted from their own stress with each others. Peebee and Vetra had been concealing any valuable tech, Gil was running constant system checks to ensure the Tempest was operating perfectly—and to provide a baseline for the checks he would run after Reyes was gone— while Kallo was biting his tongue and offering what guidance he could. Lexi had inventoried every pill, syringe, and scalpel in her cabinets, Liam had double checked everything that could be bolted down, and Jaal would swear that he saw Drack adding extra Wraith teeth at the neck of his armor. Jaal had helped Peebee and Vetra where he could, locking every sensitive datapad he found in Ryder’s cabin under SAM’s protection.

By the time Reyes swaggered into the Tempest an hour after they expected him, Jaal doubted there was a centimeter of the ship the crew hadn’t memorized as a precaution. The sense of control provided a sliver of comfort. Drack punched the door closed behind Reyes, rumbling “About time” in Reyes face when the human glanced over his shoulder. Reyes raised his eyebrows at the krogan’s invasion of his personal space, starting to grin and thinking better of it when Drack drew up to full height over him.

“You’re late,” Cora accused from the crew’s waiting cluster.

“Yes, sorry about that…” Reyes sidled sideways out from under Drack’s shadow. “I can’t afford to draw too much attention.”

“You could have messaged us,” Liam groused.

“I was otherwise occupied.”

“With…?” Jaal prompted before Reyes could escape.

“Gathering information,” Reyes assured smoothly. Slinking past Cora and Jaal in the guise of respect, Reyes chuckled bashfully, “I had to wait for my sources.”

Reyes trailed off and drifted through the crew carelessly as he looked around the Tempest with keen interest. His mouth quirked as he looked into Liam’s cluttered quarters before he tipped his head back toward the engine. Staring up at the engine’s continuous hum, Reyes sighed wistfully. The sight disturbed Jaal. Reyes should not be getting comfortable here. As if sensing a challenge, Gil left the shelter of his tinkering and leaned over the upper railing to watch Reyes closely. Reyes noticed, cranking on a wide smile that reminded Jaal of a hungry challyrion. 

“Impressive work, I’ve seen her fly,” Reyes called up. “A mechanic’s dream.”

“Lucky guess,” Gil jacked a thumb to the engine core he had appeared from. “I could be the cook around here for all you know.”

“Ah, I used to be a pilot, I’ve learned to pick out mechanics,” Reyes flicked a wave upward.“Reyes Vidal.”

“I’ve heard,” Gil confirmed shortly. “Or did you prefer Shena? _Or_ the Charlatan? Must be hard to keep track.”

Gil scrubbed his hands with a rag through the carefully apathetic question. Reyes either didn’t notice Gil’s snide sarcasm or chose to ignore it. 

“Reyes, please,” Reyes laughed softly and gestured at the ship. “I’m green with jealousy, she’s a masterpiece.” 

“I know, I made her that way. And if one piece gets out of place, you’ll have me and a pain in the ass salarian on your…ass,” Gil threatened with an irked scowl over his fumble. 

Liam rolled his eyes to the ceiling and Jaal squashed an overwhelming urge to trip Reyes on his smirking face as the smuggler hummed over the statement and made a show of deeply considering Gil’s warning. Reyes dramatically tucked his hands in his pockets and offered Gil a teasing bow before circling back to Cora. Gil grimaced and muttered, “And be black and blue instead, _come on_ , Gil” to himself bitterly. Reyes twisted on his heel with his mouth open to respond, running into Peebee cutting in front of him.

“Admire later, information now!” Peebee declared insistently.

“And quickly,” Jaal growled. 

Pulling his face into something he probably thought was sincerity, Reyes tugged off his gloves and perched himself on a locked storage crate. He looked disappointingly unruffled.

“I finally caught Kian when he met his suppliers to restock,” Reyes launched into his routine. “It seems Scott and Ryder put on quite the biotic display, one of his dancers got caughtin the blast. The dancer needed medigel to work and told Kian the rest.”

“Nice to have a stroke of luck,” Vetra muttered, making herself comfortable against the Nomad.

“We hit a streak,” Reyes agreed proudly. Bringing up his omnitool, Reyes continued, “Sloane may have left the Nexus but that training sticks, she kept thorough records. Not just of her men, either. You have to know who you’re ruling if you want to get fees from them and keep the paupers out.”

“And you just happened to have them,” Drack grunted.

“If Sloane’s going to keep a roster of my enemies and customers, I won’t waste it,” Reyes shrugged. “We’ve been using it to keep high ranking Outcasts from sneaking back into the port. Some recruits were bound to slip through the cracks, but it can narrow it down…if we had Ryder’s AI-“

“I can easily cross reference names and biological profiles with the data I scanned before the scrambler was activated,” SAM interjected.

Jaal found a hollow sort of triumph in watching Reyes jerk his head up in search of SAM’s loud voice. Reyes might have even been reaching for his sidearm before he dropped the wandering hand in his lap. Gil snickered a floor above Peebee’s “ha!” as the crew relaxed a fraction. It was good to see that Reyes could be thrown off balance. It might be a useful trick for later. Sinking into a lean to compensate for his bristle of confusion, Reyes coughed bashfully.

“Well,” his chuckle almost covered the catch. “That wasn’t expected.”

“SAM was designed to help the entire Pathfinder team. Even, even without Ryder,” Cora cleared her throat. 

“Clever,” Reyes approved. “How do we get this in you without the scanner? Do AI’s have ports or extranet addresses? Or straight to the central hub?”

“Yeah, like you’re getting near that,” Liam grumbled bitterly under his breath.

Liam’s jeer settled over the bay, leaving Reyes’ typically quick comebacks palpably absent. Reyes was watching Liam disinterestedly. Liam didn’t seem to realize Reyes had heard him, his rolling eyes jerking in surprise when Vetra elbowed him forbiddingly. Then Reyes inhaled slowly, sliding off his improvised seat and joining the crew on the floor through the equally drawn out exhale. Closing his omnitool, Reyes stood across from the crew. 

“If you’re trying to give me an incentive to find the Pathfinder quickly, rest assured, I don’t need it,” Reyes flashed his teeth without the cloying charm. “Either way, being friends is easier than fighting each other; if not friends, being partners is enough. Agreed?”

The statement made Jaal hate Reyes even more, if that was possible. Any extension of friendship from Reyes Vidal was a maneuver for something Reyes already had in sight. Any offer of help was a choreographed display for his own profit. Rescuing Ryder and Scott may serve as a common task, but Jaal had no doubt their ultimate goals diverged from there. 

Most insultingly of all, Reyes knew the suggestion was perfectly reasonable. He depended on the appeal of symbiosis to distract from the damage of his deception, and his timing was always impeccable. The Tempest crew didn’t feel safe refusing him. Reyes softened his grimace in response to the crew’s uneasy looks to one another.

“I think we can all manage the necessary cooperation,” Reyes predicted optimistically, sparing Jaal a knowing look over Cora’s shoulder. “For the Pathfinder.”

The dedication sliced through the furious silence. Reyes sensed he had toed the line with his last words and lost a layer of bravado. Readopting the solemn air so naturally Jaal would have believed it on anyone else, Reyes offered his hand to Cora and moved his eyes briefly to each member of the crew in search of permission or obedience. Vetra and Drack reached begrudging acceptance first, prompting the others with sympathetic looks and grunts respectively. Peebee huffed and planted a hand on her cocked hip. It was a gesture of defiant defeat, not disagreement. Defeat or a challenge made Peebee more spirited than the confidence of victory. Liam folded next, guiltily growling behind his teeth and keeping his glare at Reyes. 

They were avoiding the inevitable. Jaal groaned his assent. Cora took Reyes hand in the human handshake. Jaal felt the aggression in the gesture through the straight jerk of Reyes’ elbow toward Cora in place of the lengthy symmetrical rise and fall Jaal had observed between human diplomats. 

“Until Ryder gets back,” Cora cautioned Reyes’ ceremonial smile.

“So how do I get this to SAM?” Reyes continued without pause.

“If the file is sent to the Pathfinder, I can easily integrate the information into my databases,” SAM informed. “I will begin cross referencing.”

“Sent,” Reyes punched his omnitool. Boosting himself back onto his crate to let his feet dangle, Reyes asked amicably, “What have you found?”

The short, humiliating, answer was nothing. There had been no news, no new leads, and any discussion had circled back to wondering whether Reyes would bring answers. Jaal had felt Evfra’s frustration through the vidcom when he asked what type of force Jaal would need. It was an abject failure on Jaal’s part. The fact that it left them indebted to Reyes only added insult to the crippling injury.

“We haven’t gotten any demands,” Jaal was quietly impressed by Cora’s attempt to reframe their obvious floundering. “Liam, Drack and Vetra went to the slums and scanned for evidence.” 

“We found tracks and drag marks that might match the kidnappers, but they end outside the gates,” Liam elaborated. “They probably got them into a shuttle from there. Not like they carried someone Scott’s size through the mountains.”

“Which means that wherever they are, they have space for a shuttle,” Vetra sighed. “Or someone inside the port.”

“Both are possible. Hiding a shuttle on Kadara is easier than you’d think,” Reyes agreed. “But we know they have access to the port somehow, and if we trace one of our mysterious kidnappers to a shuttle-“

“We’ll know where to start looking,” Jaal confirmed.

“Maybe even have some emissions to follow,” Cora added without too much optimism.

“I tried asking around the docks, but no one’s talking,” Liam grunted. He had taken the lack of progress to heart and sunk into frustrated melancholy.

“Not surprising. If Sejanus, Kian’s dancer, is as talkative with everyone else, most of the port knows that the Pathfinder is gone. No point in getting involved if there’s no obvious reward and the power is shifting.”

“And Suvi’s been working on the map to narrow the search area,” Vetra finished. “She’s already-“

“Show me.”

Reyes hopped off the crate eagerly and cut through the group to scatter them. Vetra trotted quickly to steer him toward the lift and away from the living quarters. Striding confidently, Reyes seemed to have forgotten the distrust and uneasy start, and now projected a fresh energy through the Tempest’s dejected weariness. A zeal for the hunt that was infectious even as it was unsettling. The crew trailed after him before Reyes escaped with any fresh news.

“Don’t you have your own maps of the area?” Jaal asked irritably from where he had squeezed between Cora and Drack on the lift.

“Of course we do, I have men stationed in more places than Draullir,” Reyes explained, trying to steal a better look at the engine core from the upper level. “If my men are somewhere, I like to think the Outcasts aren’t.”

“Think, or know?” Liam dragged himself over the top step of the ladder with Peebee scrambling up the opposite ladder to meet the lift.

“Yesterday, I’d say ‘know,’” Reyes circled vaguely toward where Gil was still watching until Vetra shooed him toward the meeting room. “Things change when someone snatches our Pathfinder from under my nose. Another reason I’m late, I was receiving reports from my commanders.”

_Our Pathfinder?_ ** _Your_** _nose_? Jaal’s annoyance returned at Reyes’ defensive, nearing possessive, tone.

Reyes ducked out from Vetra’s grasp as soon as the hall widened into the Strike Team projection. He had noticed their attempt to pin him in, and slid around the center console to stay at the border of the group. Drack meandered casually to a stop in front of the door to the bridge before Reyes reached it. Good. Cooperation did not have to mean complacency, 

Peebee squeaked softly at the thread of electricity that shot from Jaal into her arm when she patted his shoulder. Jaal hastily stepped away from the group as embarrassment added a spike after his initial aggravation. To an angara the bioelectric surge was an unconscious social cue and common emotional tell, as natural as a human’s sweat or salarian’s expressive muscle tics; to humans, salarians, and asari, the sensation was uncomfortable, potentially painful. The surprised responses only added to Jaal’s distress, and Jaal had worked hard to become conscious of the instinctive change before it built on itself. Another discouraging failure to add to the day.

“He’s just trying to sound like he’s on our side. ‘Us,’ ‘we,’ ‘our,’ to sell the whole partnership bit.Don’t let him get to you,” Peebee comforted softly. “Trust me, it’s not worth it.”

Peebee replaced her hand firmly as soon as Jaal stood still to listen. Peebee was taking the Ryders’ loss—absence, Jaal corrected his kett-based paranoia—as hard as any of them, but she never let that damper her determination. The fiery resolve was as comforting as Evfra’s reassurances, and more comforting than Liam’s respectful silence, Cora’s professional composure, or even Vetra’s motherly concern. Perhaps that’s why Peebee still had defiance to muster. She wasn’t busy smothering what everyone was feeling, Jaal returned Peebee’s shoulder pat thankfully.

Drack shuffled sideways to let Suvi join the gathering. Reyes offered Suvi his introductory leer, keeping wisely quiet as he watched Suvi squeeze into the huddle beside Vetra. Suvi responded with a flustered wave over the console as she brought up her map. 

It would have been beautiful if it had been one of Suvi’s innocent pastime projects. The topography was boosted from rudimentary mapping by the incorporation of SAM’s previous scans of the planet, and Suvi had easily eliminated the areas under Initiative or Collective control. Other sections were darkened out based on environment or terrain: a stretch of rocky plains without cover, a series of shallow caves, and a valley with a particularly territorial trio of Elrochs. Jaal concentrated on the progress on the map to keep calm when Peebee patted him again.

“I mapped what we had,” Suvi explained with a light tinge of prideful pink for her creation. “But I thought you…might know where your men are better than we can.”

“I would hope so,” Reyes chuckled, spinning the map in a blur with a flick of his hand. “What’s this place?”

“A Remnant site,” Suvi pointed to the expanse of eliminated ground. “They’re very aggressive in this area, they nearly wiped out Initiative surveyors. There isn’t a place to safely put a stronghold.”

“Huh,” Reyes grunted approvingly. Rotating the map slowly, Reyes tentatively touched a section, drawing a border and looking impressed when the projection automatically faded the area. “I might ask for a version of this, it has much more detail than our scans.”

“Thank you,” Suvi glanced at Reyes in surprise for the sincere compliment. “It’s not hard, really, SAM compiled the details, the rest was just incorporating them into a mapping program.”

“What did you just cut out?” Vetra asked Reyes while she rested her hand on Suvi’s back affectionately.

“Patrol outpost,” Reyes explained shortly. Looking up at Vetra’s discerning hum, Reyes’ mouth pulled sideways and he ran an amused look down Vetra’s arm to Suvi’s lower back. No doubt that the man was observant. Annoyingly so.

Rotating the map delicately, Reyes crossed out another large swath of a valley and a strip along the main road. He offered no further explanation as he worked, except one request for Suvi to undo one of his decisions. 

The longer he worked, the more the crew’s vigilance eased. Reyes was concentrated on a new job, for now, and the useless tension was making Jaal’s muscles hurt. Suvi supervised her work eagerly, lending a feeling of progress the more area Reyes dismissed. 

“How can I highlight areas?” Reyes asked.

Suvi frantically punched in commands, causing the next border Reyes drew to glow red against the soft blue and discarded grey. 

“Do you have an idea where they are?” Cora leaned over the map eagerly.

“I can offer theories,” Reyes circled a mountainous area. “A number of patrols have gotten into skirmishes in these areas, and a handful of my men have gone missing. No promises, particularly if they have a shuttle, but it’s a lead.”

Jaal begrudgingly allowed himself to be impressed. One did not have to like a man like Reyes to appreciate their efficiency. While the Tempest crew had been treading water, Reyes had wrung information out of Kadara’a worst elements. There were better things to condemn Reyes for.

“Excuse me, Lieutenant Harper,” SAM prompted a small jump from Reyes and snicker from Liam. “Pathfinder Avitus Rix is attempting to contact us by vidcom.”

“What does he want?” Cora asked, already heading for the ramp.

“Unknown, he says it is urgent.”

The announcement triggered a stampede. Reyes skipped out of the way of Peebee’s shove and into Vetra’s shoulder. Spinning clear of Jaal and Liam’s charge after them, Reyes docilely followed Drack’s claw on the back of his shirt collar. Cora dashed at the front of the group, reaching the console first and blocking it from the others while mustering up her composure.The crew automatically formed a circle around the screen, glaring at Cora in unison. Reyes fell in without a fuss beside Liam and Vetra, watching the projection with great interest. Avitus’ projection sprang up in front of them, already sporting an impatient glower.

“Where the…where the hell is Ryder?” Avitus demanded as soon as he saw Cora.

“Whoa, whoa, Avitus, what’s going on?“ Cora held up her hands defensively.

“That’s what I’d like to know.”

Avitus cleared his throat roughly, sizing Cora up across from him. The turian Pathfinder had a strong temper he worked hard to contain, and he didn’t always succeed. This was one of those times.

“Ryder was supposed to send environmental reports on the newest planet almost a week ago, so I can take over surveying. So I go to Tann, since he likes to have reports diverted to him to prove he’s still director of something, and he scolds me for asking about Ryder at a ‘time like this,’” Avitus’ indignation made the speaker rattle. “Then I ask Addison if her department has them, and she said Ryder has been ‘indefinitely delayed on Kadara,’ and nearly kicked me out of Operations when I asked what _that_ meant. I don’t like politicians feeding me a line, and it didn’t take much digging to find out Tann’s called the Kadara outpost ten times in the last day, no one’s heard from Ryder in two, and you’ve been docked there for almost three. Call it an old Spectre’s paranoid hunch, but something’s up.”

“Wait, the directors didn’t tell the Pathfinders anything?” Cora cut in when Avitus dared to inhale.

“Not really surprising, they never liked telling anyone when-“

“Hey! What’s going on?” Avitus demanded over Vetra’s annoyance and Peebee’s building complaints. Looking around the group for an explanation, Avitus pointed. “And who is _he?_ ”

“Reyes Vidal,” Reyes proclaimed grandly.“I was part of the Kadara forces on Meridian, you might have seen my shuttle as you flew by.”

Avitus showed a spark of recognition, but was not charmed or impressed. 

“Both the Ryders got snatched from Tartarus by some Outcast thugs almost a day ago, been gone without a trace since,” Drack explained succinctly. “Reyes runs the Collective, and they run Kadara now.”

“And I’m helping to find the Ryders,” Reyes added loudly. “Part of our _alliance_.”

“Usually goes by the Charlatan,” Drack rumbled over Reyes contentedly. “Suits him.”

Avitus stared at Reyes while Reyes wiggled his fingers in a wave before tucking the offending hand under the opposite elbow. The former Spectre looked no happier for the knowledge, and glared at Reyes for good measure before turning away to Cora.

“How the hell’d they, whoever _they_ is, even get their hands on them?”

“They went drinking at Tartarus,“Peebee squirmed. “And-“

“ _Alone_?”

Jaal held his breath to check his indignation at the interrogation crashing through the group. He was familiar with the demanding inflection Avitus tended to acquire under pressure, a relic from his days as the mercenary of the Milky Way leadership and a continuing defensive mechanism. But receiving it was worse than Jaal anticipated. Jaal had no right to anger; Avitus’ disbelieving question only clarified that.

“Ryder’s been to Tartarus alone before,” Liam insisted weakly. “It’s usually fine.”

“It’s an outlaw colony!” 

“Most of the people weren’t criminals until we got there. Some of us even worked _for_ security,” Reyes interjected judiciously, shrinking at Avitus growl in his direction.”Not _me_ , but…”

“Look, we were planning to meet up with them in the port, ” Cora explained, regret cracking her professional persona. “But I got held up with paperwork, and Peebee was off buying parts, and-“

“Ryder didn’t need a chaperone,” Peebee added defensively. “And Scott didn’t want one, he’s been supervised since he woke up on the Hyperion. They’re not idiot kids who can’t defend themselves, they wanted to unwind without bodyguards.” 

“No matter how we talk now, they’ve already been taken,” Jaal had no other excuse and didn’t want to hear the others’. “We have to find them before they come to more harm.”

“How do you know they’re-“

“Because their worth comes from the influence and information they have,” Reyes cut Avitus off with fresh confidence. “The Outcasts won’t squander that.”

“And that gives us a chance,” Vetra punctuated. “If we work quickly.”

Without waiting for Avitus’ input, Vetra launched into the information they had, passing the report on to Cora without argument when Cora insistently joined the lecture. Avitus’ listened without moving, standing rigidly tall over the Tempest crew wilting around him. Avitus’ aggravation had stung and shamed all of them, making Jaal feel like an aimless novice again. 

When Cora had fallen silent, Avitus opened his mouth for a barrage of questions or reprimands, but closed it gradually the longer he looked at the crew. Any sense of accomplishment had been effectively eradicated, leaving them slumped together while Suvi studied her omnitool glumly. The entire assembly jumped when the door to the bay opened, startling Gil as he came in to eavesdrop. Avitus jaw flexed rhythmically through the interruption before the turian Pathfinder sighed heavily and softened his rigid posture.

“Alright. Alright,” Avitus decided slowly. “You’re right, Ryder and Scott aren’t rookies, the outlaws got lucky, they took it, and this doesn’t get them back. Keep up the…the good work. Sarissa’s out mapping, but send what you have to me and Raeka.”

The Tempest crew hesitated in the aftermath of Avitus’ command. The clipped offer was generous, but Jaal balked at the idea of handing even partial responsibility of finding Ryder over to another crew, even one led by Avitus or Raeka. The Initiative directors were already at odds with the Tempest crew over how to handle this upheaval, and continued insubordination would earn them no favors if they needed them. A show of force might back the Outcasts into a corner and jeopardize what little “safety” Ryder and Scott had. The rest of the crew seemed equally conflicted, bolstered by Avitus’ sentiment before sinking into doubt. 

“With all due respect, Av…Pathfinder Rix,” Cora faltered through Avitus’ doubtful snort. “Throwing more bodies at this might just slow us down.”

“Or trying to patrol an entire planet with one crew, without Ryder’s SAM working at full potential, will slow you down,” Avitus countered, not unkindly. “What other resources do you have?”

“Evfra has offered us soldiers, if it comes to that,” Jaal informed, fully aware that Evfra would prefer for the Initiative to take responsibility for their own. Avitus looked impressed for a moment before Jaal admitted.“But diverting them from their regular assignments presents obstacles. Our units are stretched thin, and Resistance interference on Kadara is…complicated.”

“So, for now, you have a crew of six, and him,” Avitus indicated Reyes with an obligatory wave. “To cover the planet, and face whatever force the Outcasts have?”

“Crew of ten,” Vetra corrected loyally while Gil indicated himself defensively.

“Three of which aren’t cleared for field work. And one that's an AI best equipped with Ryder,” Avitus didn’t budge, though he looked at Gil and Suvi apologetically. 

“I am still operational without the Pathfinder,” SAM assured. “However, Avitus Rix is correct. It is not optimal.”

“Can you fill in with the Collective?” Avitus shot at Reyes. “If we vet them…”

“Aaaah,” Reyes cleared his throat. “I already told the patrols to be on the look out, and I’ll talk to Keema, but they won’t like being hired out to the Initiative.”

“Shame if they found out the Outcasts snatched the Pathfinder ‘out front under your nose,’” Drack suggested loudly.

“Perhaps. And perhaps,” Reyes conceded. “You don’t want to announce another Initiative failure to a planet full of profit-minded outlaws. Outcasts aren’t the only ones tired of being jerked around by Tann and Addison.”

“Is that a threat?” Avitus asked coldly.

“Tactical assessment,” Reyes spread his hands innocently. “I don’t control every outlaw on Kadara, and even my men aren’t immune to temptation. I’d be a fool not to know that.”

Reyes projected the last part at Jaal in a targeted acknowledgement. Some day, Jaal was going to punch Reyes.Jaal wasn’t proud of the priority, but it was rapidly rising.

Avitus rocked on his feet in thought, highlighting the crew’s uncertainty. Jaal looked to Cora, surprised that she had absorbed Avitus’ authoritative declarations over the Tempest crew so quietly.Cora laced and unlaced her fingers under the lip of the console while her face remained straight. Peebee flicked her fingers against Jaal’s elbow, glancing at Avitus more favorably. Suvi was whispering to Vetra and Gil, picking at her nails fretfully.

“It would be…but if they’re using…” Suvi thought quietly into Vetra’s ear. Liam placed his hands on his hips unhappily and leaned to listen, his jaw drifting askew as he thought. 

“Nah, it won’t scan if it’s in range _,_ but it’d give an idea…well, how many do you think they _have_?” Gil mumbled at Suvi and Vetra simultaneously. 

Reyes did not look pleased. Considering Avitus with crossed arms and a pensive frown, Reyes almost let himself look actively displeased. Reyes was used to dealing with Ryder, and Ryder gave him leeway while things ran smoothly. Things were not going smoothly, and Avitus had no guilt fueled tolerance for Reyes that the Charlatan could twist. That would be weight in Avitus’ favor, if not for the risk that Reyes would become petulantly unhelpful. Reyes noticed Jaal studying him and carefully adopted a more indulgent expression in Avitus’ direction.

“I’m not…I don’t doubt your qualifications. You’ve proven you can handle yourselves, a hundred times over,” Avitus filled in the stretching pause, polite but amicably familiar to the crew while ignoring Reyes. “But you need to cover ground and you need to cover it fast, even trimming it down you have miles. You can’t canvas with a strike team.”

“And, with all due respect to everything you’ve done,” Avitus’ nod to Cora was sincere. “You don’t have to anymore.”

Avitus’ last arguments came with a tired grimace. The establishment of the Pathfinder teams was, by and large, a blessing, but it brought with it new politics. As the last original Pathfinder Raeka had seniority on paper, but Ryder had more practical experience and clout in Heleus. Sarissa was a brilliant commander, but her rise to Pathfinder was still causing public relation headaches. That left Avitus, widely respected but used to working alone and still adjusting to the political side of Pathfinder. The Pathfinders’ tactics differed drastically, while the directors were debating how to divvy up responsibilities and aligning with the Pathfinder of their choosing. The Tempest had lost much of its initial autonomy and multiple teams introduced the uncomfortable question of a hierarchy the Pathfinders had strived to avoid.

“He’s got a point,” Liam mumbled. “We can’t split up too much, or we’ll get jumped ourselves.”

“I will warn the Collective, but the citizens won’t appreciate more Initiative soldiers poking their nose in too many places outside of Ditaeon either,” Reyes reiterated. “We agreed to a settlement and an alliance, not to go back under Tann’s thumb.”

Reyes considered himself a “we” with a diverse range of people, Jaal kept to himself. It would be interesting to see which ones lasted.

“Then it’s a good thing we have you,” Peebee fluttered her eyes at Reyes mockingly. 

“Kinda the point of you, isn’t it?” Gil interjected, grinning from ear to ear with his tongue sticking out between his teeth when Reyes knit his brows at him. 

“And we will leave, once we get the Pathfinder back,” Jaal returned Reyes’ pointed address. “That should add the missing…incentive.”

Reyes nodded in defeat, withdrawing from the circle and watching Avitus out from under his brows as the Tempest crew came to a silent agreement. Avitus cleared his throat in a clear prompt, watching Cora for her verdict.

“The Directors won’t like it either,” Cora warned, sounding perplexing relieved despite the warning. “This’ll draw more attention than they wanted.”

“So will trying to keep us quiet on the Nexus,” Avitus chuckled grimly. “And I am _not_ going to be the one to tell Raeka she was kept out of the loop on something like this.”

“We can get transport there, keep a low profile by joining a transport to Ditaeon. Keep us updated. You’re looking for the kidnappers?” Avitus nodded in unison with the crew. “Good. I’ll handle them when I get there.”

“I have men for that,” Reyes called.

“Then I’ll help when I get there,” Avitus straightened his shoulders. “We can talk methods. Maybe split the work, make it go faster.”

Reyes turned his mouth up and nodded while Avitus smiled flatly at him.

“I look forward to learning from a Spectre,” Reyes inclined his head politely.

“I look forward to getting familiar with Kadara,” Avitus responded civilly. 

Jaal stiffened at the competitive edge in the pair’s exchanges. Reyes’s charm was turning cold and Avitus temper was sharpening again. That would have to be neutralized. Jaal didn’t _want_ to cooperate with Reyes; he didn’t have time to compete with him.

“We need to keep working,” Jaal interrupted. 

“Deal with stuff on the Nexus, we’ll plan from there,” Cora added with forced confidence.

Avitus shrugged to himself, redirecting his attention to the Tempest crew. Scratching his neck as he thought, Avitus softened again.

“Keep up the hard work. I know you don’t need that lecture, I know,” Avitus admitted. “But that’s how we do this: work fast, fight smart…bring our own home.”

_We. Our._ Jaal believed it from Avitus. The words had an experienced gravity that Avitus didn’t bother to mask. It wasn’t a gesture or a platitude. They had a painful sting for Avitus, but he meant every one.

“Agreed,” Liam saluted Avitus neatly.

Avitus seemed startled by the gesture, squirming while Cora, Gil, Suvi, and Vetra copied Liam, Drack knocked against his chest plate approvingly and Jaal assumed deferential attention with Peebee. Avitus returned the salutes clinically. 

“Let’s do it,” Avitus encouraged softly, and then he was gone.

Without him, the crew had to absorb the truth behind his rhetoric. They didn’t always beat the odds. They couldn’t. They succeeded often enough that they let themselves think it was possible, but they could be easily proven wrong. Jaal suddenly felt sicker than before.

“We all heard him,” Drack decided, shuffling toward the living quarters. 

“I should prepare the packets for them,” Suvi radiated relief for the work. “Vetra, you have pointers for Kadara?”

“Yup,” Vetra gladly followed Suvi. 

“I’ll head back to the docks,” Reyes dismissed himself. “They’ll talk more freely near a smuggler.”

“Hey! Don’t get any-“ Peebee called at his back.

“I’ll be back in three hours, unless you need me. If I’m not, you can…broadcast who I am to the port. I won’t have anywhere to run then,” Reyes let the crew follow him and steer him out. “Seems fair insurance between partners.”

Reyes bowed to all of them and backed away, stroking his hand down the Nomad as he left. Jaal didn’t buy that Reyes had no hole to crawl into if his identity was revealed, but the bulletin would make it more difficult for him to indulge his demons. That would have to do.

“I’m gonna…call Tann before he turns this on us,” Cora tucked her hair behind her ear testily. “I don’t think Avitus is in a diplomatic mood.”

“Let Raeka do it,” Liam encouraged. “Tann likes her.”

“You’re right…SAM, how is that data coming?”

“There are a number of preliminary results, I am narrowing them down as this conversation continues,” SAM assured.

“Good. Good, then…I’ll check in with Christmas Tate,” Cora twisted her fingers.

Liam patted Cora on the back sympathetically and made himself comfortable in the chair behind her as she steeled herself for another call. Jaal jumped as Peebee slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and pull gently.

“I’m trying to fit Zap with a better scanner. Like another crew member, a recon drone,” she explained lightly as she steered him into the tech lab. “I could use some help with assembling the actual, y’know, the scanning part. I want an upgrade, not an old-school scanner welded on. You work the parts, I’ll start the reprogramming?”

It was a poor distraction. A fine idea, but something Peebee could handle by herself with her eyes closed and a few prideful boasts to Gil and Jaal when it worked. But Jaal would take it.

“Let’s get started,” Jaal agreed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel as if this could feel like a stretch, but I did think about it: Reyes told the bouncer/Outcast doorman his real name when he got Ryder into Sloane's party, and he’s publicly friends with Keema, just before Sloane is killed. That’s a heck of a coincidence to miss. But clearly, the Outcasts didn’t put that together. Since that doorman was stationed in the port when the Collective suddenly took over, he got killed before anyone noticed the Reyes/Ryder/Keema connection. So the turian and his group wouldn’t have that intel, and the turian doesn’t know to ask the crucial question, “Why did a man named Reyes Vidal get you into Sloane’s party and seem friendly with Keema, is he the Charlatan?”

Despite SAM’s attempts to conceal it, Jaime was obviously lying.

Scott knew it even without the sensation of SAM evading him with every answer out of Jaime’s mouth. SAM hid the tremors she got through her hands and kept her lips flushed where they would have been pale, the tells Scott had recognized for as long as he remembered, but that didn’t conceal the new look that Jaime was giving him in the hush after every question. The look unique to their time in Andromeda. It was the look the entire Tempest crew got when Scott walked in on something they weren’t sure he needed to know. 

Oh, they shared stories of their adventures readily, but most had a point that petered off mysteriously. Enough information to brag to each other, satisfy Scott’s curiosity, and answer awed questions, but with an uneasiness Scott could feel without knowing how to get past it. Jaime was lying, and she was afraid; Scott just didn’t know all the reasons. 

Part of it was the other prisoners. They were radiating a shared apprehension while Jaime talked, and Jaime kept checking the cell. But it was more than that. The few details Scott thought he had known were warped. The Collective and the Charlatan were no longer a distant organization Jaime had made peace with after Sloane had been toppled, and Keema looked less like the Collective’s queen and more like a trusted vizier. The Charlatan, a vague puppet master Scott was convinced Liam had called a “son of a bitch," Peebee had called an “egomaniacal bastard,” and Jaal had said was “pleased with his own shit” suddenly had a name, and seemed to be a woman.

And Sloane had been shot dead less than a yard from Jaime’s face. That was something Scott couldn’t dismiss as a misheard name or understated association. It was something Scott was still trying to fathom.

“You didn’t know the sniper?” The turian had been hammering at Jaime’s story for what felt like days: repeating questions, veering away, and doubling back when he thought Jaime was off guard. “You walked into the meeting without knowing who would be shooting, without knowing there were forces in position?”

“No.” Jaime remained consistent. “I didn’t know that the Collective would be there. I mean, I knew the Charlatan wanted to meet, but I didn’t know there’d be more Collective.”

“But you agreed to walk into a duel, as if you were with Sloane, with them waiting?” 

Scott sank down the wall to sit while Jaime wiggled in the tattered chair. Egeria had been standing tirelessly since she’d first risen, but time was wearing on the other prisoners. Cole seemed to have joined Tejna in napping. The only clue otherwise was Cole's eyes opening whenever Jaime hesitated. Scott rubbed his gurgling stomach to soothe his nerves. Would the two of them be down here long enough to become unimpressed by these interrogations? 

“I _was_ with Sloane,” Jaime insisted. “I didn’t go with Sloane because Crux asked me to. I went because Sloane asked me.”

“But you were already working with the Collective.”

“Not…not against Sloane.” Jaime wet her lips. “They gave me information on Oblivion, and the Roekaar to stop those killings-“

“Why?” 

Jaime’s previous answer tumbled over itself. It was hardly a new question, but the turian liked to segment lengthy explanations with harsh interjections. It was a method Scott had seen drill sergeants use on their charges when they smelled an excuse. It kept Jaime from spinning out a practiced story, jarring her out of her set explanations whenever the turian felt she was getting comfortable. 

“I was investigating the murders anyway. I couldn’t let settlers come here if the Roekaar would target them,” Jaime repeated. “Crux said they had lost some potential recruits and knew where the Roekaar hideout was. Once I knew it was the Roekaar for myself, I went there from the information they gave me. After that, Crux asked me to track down someone who was faking the Charlatan’s orders.”

“How did they know? 

“They had lost more agents to bad intel, but Crux said the senior officers started noticing the intel was wrong and conflicted with the real Charlatan’s information.”

“And you met with her where?”

“It changed.” Jaime thumped her head against the back of the chair. “Kralla’s Song, Tartarus, a few times in the market, and at the Roekaar base. That’s when she asked me to investigate Carina and Dorado. But that was the last thing she asked me to do. They didn’t send me against Sloane.”

“Right,” the asari spoke for the first time in an hour. “You just happened to set up the shot.”

The asari fell quiet as the turian marched past her, but she didn’t look repentant for interrupting. For his part the turian didn’t break his stride or offer a reprimand. The turian’s wrath was focused and, excepting a curt order, Scott had never seen it turn on the other Outcasts. A rivalry in the ranks would have been too much luck, Scott supposed.

“All Sloane said was that the Charlatan ‘wanted to settle things,’” Jaime answered the asari’s accusation while she watched the turian respectfully. “I didn’t know they were planning a shoot out anymore than she did. Once we got there, she agreed to the duel, but the sniper finished her before she or Crux drew their weapon.”

The asari sniffed and leaned back along the bench lazily. The turian picked at the seal around his helmet, showing his first sign of fatigue. Scott found himself looking to the mug of water the turian had left abandoned on the bench. The water from earlier had left an acrid taste in Scott’s mouth and stung a split at the corner of his mouth, but it had soothed his throat and joined the biscuit to artificially fill his stomach. Now his throat ached down through his belly and he had started sucking his own tongue for something to wet his mouth. The waiting made it worse, forcing Scott to choose whether to indulge the queasy slosh of watching Jaime in the chair or dwell on lightheaded dehydration.

“And they needed you to get the outpost,” the turian practically made a concession. Jaime nodded slightly at the turian but stayed silent and mostly still. “And you claim you haven’t had contact with Crux, or the Charlatan, since.”

“I haven’t,” Jaime’s explanation rang clear. “Once Sloane died, I looked for Crux at the port base, but Keema said I would be doing business with her.”

“And you expect me to buy that,” the turian sprang on the answer with fresh energy.

“Once we had the deal-“

“I _don’t_ buy that,” the turian talked over Ryder. “I don’t buy that the Charlatan would leave the key part of their deal to Keema at the crucial point, and I don’t buy that _you_ would make a deal with Keema without getting confirmation from the Charlatan and making sure you knew just who you were working with. Especially after they kept you in the dark about Sloane until you walked into the line of fire.”

The turian still hadn’t confirmed that Crux was the Charlatan when he spoke. Scott didn’t know if it was to keep the pressure on Jaime or due to actual disbelief, but he didn’t stick the title to Crux. If that was the lie Jaime was stewing over, her audience wasn’t biting.

“So, assuming you’re as smart as the reports claim, you would get assurance from the Charlatan themself. Find a way to ensure that the outpost was safe and the agreement was solid, without having to walk the badlands hoping they'd find you,” the turian prowled back to Jaime and stood with his toes resting against hers. “And that means knowing where you can find the Charlatan. I’m going to need _that_ information, now.”

“I don’t have it,” Jaime projected conviction even through a swallow. “I don’t know where the Charlatan is.”

“Then you have a way to contact them and arrange a meeting,” the turian compromised. “That will do.”

“I can’t.” Jaime’s mouth acquired a pale border. “I can’t summon the Charlatan for you.”

The turian considered Jaime’s statement through a long pause that made Scott’s skin crawl. The asari clicked the safety on and off on her gun, jabbing the sound into Scott’s buzzing ears with each passing second. Scott lost his certainty, sensing sincerity accompanied by evasion in Jaime’s answer. 

“Perhaps you need a minute to think, that's fine. Cole,” the turian declared to the room. Jaime shrank back in the seat submissively as the turian reached for her and the asari bounced up from her seat. The turian tugged Ryder up by the front of her shirt and carelessly dropped her to sit on the bench. The cup of water skidded and fell with a clang that collided with the ensuing echo off the stone walls. Leaving Jaime perched on the bench, the turian supervised while the asari summoned Cole out of the cell with a pointed gun.

Cole didn’t even put up the pantomime of a fight. Shuffling meekly past the gun’s muzzle to settle into the dent Jaime had left on the chair’s seat, Cole spread his arms on the armrests and drummed his fingers until the turian had strapped him in. The asari picked her way delicately over the spreading puddle of water to come sit by Jaime.

“Hungry, Cole?” the turian asked with a final tug of the left arm strap.

“Went through the same Nexus rationing you did,” Cole shrugged off his sunken cheeks and the distinct ridges of his collar and breast bones under his shirt. “But I could go for some Oblivion…you got any leftovers?”

Scott almost convinced himself that the turian chuckled and the asari snickered back at Cole’s toothy smile. The Outcasts had extended a similar set of grimly familiar pleasantries to Egeria when she had been in the chair the day before. Egeria had ignored the gestures, but the shadow of spoiled camaraderie had lurked under the surface throughout the turian’s questions. 

“Detoxing from that shit would be worse than a comfortable chair and our little talks,” the turian did laugh as he said it, plainly. 

“Ah, you underestimate yourself,” Cole clucked. Rotating his wrist under the constricting cuff, Cole flicked dirt out from under his nails and beamed up at the turian. “You give the DTs a run for their money…Peryxon? One of the cryo-pod techs, right?”

The turian shook his head over Cole’s inquisitive guess and Cole shrugged in defeat. The exchange was venomous under the conversational words in a way that set Scott’s teeth on edge. Jaime felt it too, and kept herself perfectly still as the turian passed and the asari jiggled her leg under the poised pistol.

“You’ll get bored of guessing before you get it,” the turian promised. Propping his foot against Cole’s knee and leaning on his leg to create pressure, the turian fixed Cole in the same stare he had used on Jaime. Cole’s chest rose and fell deeply while his elbows and shoulders lost their cavalier looseness as the turian added weight behind his heel. “So, Cole, after you got kicked out of the port, where did you go?”

“Same ‘place’ anyone does,” Cole grimaced shortly through a smile. “Hooked up with the first group that didn’t try to shoot me, eat me, cry on me, or sell me off. Hightailed it back to the port first chance I got. Never been an outdoorsman, me.”

Cole clenched his teeth in the grin as his knee shook between the edge of the chair and the turian’s foot, while his ankle pressed into the strap around his leg. 

“And when did you join the Collective?” the turian was following the same methodical routine as he had with the others. Easy questions that the subjects should easily answer, repeated ad nauseam in the hope that new information would slip out when the subject got complacent. 

“Pretty soon after. They didn’t shoot me, none of us liked Sloane, and I got a cut for doing my part. Hell of a recruitment strategy.”

“And when did you start stripping our structures for parts?”

Cole sighed over the question, but the sigh ended in a grunt of pain. The turian had dug his heel under Cole’s knee cap and was steadily pushing up with his body weight. Scott snuck a look at Jaime, loathing the part of himself that was glad Cole was in her place when the turian’s temper frayed. Jaime was wincing more than Cole was, tracing the bones along the back of her hand with each flinch. 

“We all stole tech and supplies from each other,” Cole reasoned through gritted teeth. “We’d strip a building here, you’d raid us for the parts there, back 'n forth to pass the day and try to set up a stronghold that’d last long enough to make it worth it.”

“And you got pretty good at it.”

“You learn to get creative,” Cole agreed as he wiggled his knee back and forth under the turian’s foot. “If you use the bits and pieces right, you can almost get a full room out of the spare parts.”

“You got more than that,” the turian returned Cole’s clucking. “Found a way to build straight into the mountain. ‘Saved a shit ton on repairs without weather,’ was the boast I heard. You’re a loud drunk, Cole.”

“Yeah, I also talk out of my ass,” Cole expelled a loud laugh that rang with pain. “Once told a fella I came up with the Nexus blueprints to get’im home. Worked too, cute scientist who-“

Cole gurgled from the turian’s sharp shove against his leg that pushed Cole back and crunched against his knee. 

“ _And_ I helped plan renovations to half of the slums when we got here!” Cole yelped. “Y’know, the slums? The glued together shit heaps in the _giant cave_?”

The turian leaned up and dropped his leg, triggering an exasperated gasp of relief from Cole. 

“I get _so_ tired of debating semantics with you, Cole,” the turian groaned in equal exasperation. “We both know I’m not talking about the slums.”

“ _You_ aren’t.” Cole agreed, his leg swaying back and forth in addition to the pained shaking. “But if you want me to talk about building into mountains, that’s all I’ve got for you.”

Audibly grinding his jaw over Cole’s grin, the turian reached back to the asari. Looking over his shoulder when nothing happened, the turian snatched Jaime’s sleeve and yanked her to her feet. Jaime’s boots rattled against the dirt and gravel on the floor as the turian dragged her forward.

“Let’s try something different,” the turian proposed to the two humans. Flipping out his knife, the turian pointed the shining blade at Cole’s hand. “Pick a finger, Pathfinder.”

The aforementioned fingers tightened around the chair’s armrests. Cole bit the inside of his lip and his smile collapsed into itself, pulling his skin taught over his jaw and cheeks. Jaime looked between the turian and Cole’s hand in confusion.

“I don’t…”

“Simple question, you have the same anatomy.” the turian comforted, jabbing the knife at each finger helpfully. “Pick. A. Finger.”

Jaime shook her head under the turian’s watch. The asari kicked the back of Jaime’s knee to send her stumbling into Cole's arm. Scott stood and watched with a squeezing sensation over his chest as he observed this new tactic. The turian was calling Cole and Jaime’s bluffs at no risk to himself. They would torture Cole either way, but this put additional pressure on Jaime in the process. Two victims in one stroke.

“Here, I’ll show you,” the turian encouraged. Placing the blade at a perpendicular angle above the knuckle of Cole’s ring finger, the turian leaned on the blade with the heel of his hand.

Cole sprayed spit in a muted yowl as the knife cracked through the bone with hardly any resistance. Jiggling the entrenched blade back and forth delicately before he took it out, the turian looked down at his work proudly. Scott could see the strings of flesh the turian had left stretching over the leather of the chair as Cole’s finger slid over the curved armrest toward the floor. Cole clamped his jaw shut while his nostrils flared and threatened to turn white. Egeria grumbled in her throat just loud enough for Scott hear, perpetually unperturbed but seemingly annoyed. Cole’s other hand clenched on the arm rest until the leather creaked.

“There. Still attached,” the turian said cheerfully. “Some nerve damage, but medigel can repair the rest. Next?”

The turian twiddled the blade in his hand as he watched Jaime for a decision. Jaime looked ready to vomit. Blood had never frightened Jaime or Scott, not with their father’s gruff grunts over cuts and their mother’s calm medical explanations as she applied the medigel. Jaime was watching Cole’s face; Cole was watching his twitching finger and sucking air in through his nose.

“No? Then-“

“The pinky.” Jaime’s decision sounded strangled. Wiggling her pinky finger at the turian to demonstrate, Jaime pointed with the raised finger. “That’s my choice.”

The turian rattled with cold laughter. Scott fought to keep himself from running to the bars before SAM had to as the turian took Jaime’s hand and wrapped it around the knife under his firm grip. Trapping Jaime with her back to his chest and forcing her forward, the turian settled the blood-stained edge of the knife under the knuckle as Cole watched. Seizing Jaime’s free hand as she twisted against him, the turian pressed his hand against the back of hers with her palm over the knife.

Cole coughed as the flesh and bone parted under the knife and Jaime’s hand tugged uselessly under the turian’s gauntlet. Leaning over until his chin was resting on the top of Jaime’s head, the turian said discerningly, “This finger has always seemed useless to me.”

Jaime squeaked and Cole shouted “fuck”—Scott wondered if it was more pain or indignation—as the turian leaned on Jaime’s hand and the pinky fell to the floor with a damp crunch. Blood spurted from the stump left on Cole’s hand, staining the chair and leaving drops on Jaime’s clenched fingers.

The turian let Jaime twist free as he yanked the knife from her hand. He kept his other hand on Jaime’s wrist, yanking Jaime back toward his chest when she threatened to scramble away. Jaime’s feet scrabbled on the floor again before tangling over themselves when she hit the turian’s feet and legs. Wiping the blade off on the arm of Jaime’s shirt while blood was still pumping out of the severed finger, the turian calmly watched Jaime start to hyperventilate.

“Get him medigel,” Jaime begged, staring down at the finger across from her feet.

“Tell me where the Charlatan is,” the turian bargained.

“I don’t know!” Jaime’s mouth was pale and Scott saw her gag.

“Then the medigel can wait,” the turian grabbed Jaime’s free wrist and shoved the knife into her hand. “Next finger.”

Jaime jerked away from the turian, her knuckles knocking uselessly against the turian’s armor. The asari jumped to her feet and raised the gun. The turian’s stance didn’t change, but Scott felt the turian’s temper snap. Shaking Jaime out of her latest struggle until Jaime’s teeth clacked together, the turian threw her to sit on the bench with the asari’s gun at her head. Spinning the knife through the air and catching it as he watched Jaime, the turian grunted thoughtfully.

“Fine. Then sit and watch.”

Scott’s stomach kicked itself when the turian turned for him. Ignoring Jaime’s wordless shout, the turian yanked open the cell door and grabbed Scott’s shirt collar. 

“Hey! Hey, I can walk!” Scott scrambled to keep up with the turian’s business-like dragging. The turian didn’t seem to care whether Scott could walk or not, dragging Scott across the floor as carelessly as he had slung Jaime in the directions he wanted.

“Wait,” Jaime stood up with the asari following. “Wait, wait, you don’t have to—“

Jaime bit into her lower lip when the muzzle of the asari’s gun met her temple. Scott newly appreciated the turian’s strength as the turian spun Scott without noticeable effort and crushed his hand around the knife. Cole faintly struggled as Scott stood over him, groaning through his teeth while his skin quivered under shining sweat. 

“I told you to _sit_ and _watch_ ,” the turian enunciated to Jaime while he squeezed Scott’s arms. Scott struggled when he felt the turian glance at Jaime, regretting the attempt when the turian slammed his chest into Scott’s back hard enough to leave Scott winded. Digging his claw into the back of Scott’s hand to keep him still, the turian prompted softly, “Pick one.”

“Don’t—“

Jaime inhaled sharply as the asari knocked the gun’s muzzle against her head. It was a light blow, not even enough to mark the skin, but it communicated the Outcasts' patience perfectly. The turian didn’t intervene, pressing the point of his breastplate against Scott’s spine to keep him in place.

This was another display. The turian had used intimidation and physical torment on Jaime, but he hadn’t hurt her. He had thrown her off balance and jolted her, but the knife had stayed clean and he was suddenly restrained even as his temper flared. He had said he wanted a way off of Kadara, and the death of the Pathfinder and Alec Ryder’s son would all but ensure that Meridian’s borders slammed closed for everyone on Kadara. Alternatively, Scott tried to dismiss the thought, they wouldn’t get anything from Jaime if they killed him now. The turian was cornering the Ryders in other ways, showing them his power by outsourcing their pain.

“The middle finger,” Scott decided when he heard the gun click.

Even Cole looked surprised. The turian’s chest vibrated against Scott’s back in a chilling laugh that nearly convinced Scott’s stomach that puking was a good idea. The turian tightened his grip around Scott’s hand and forced the blade against Cole’s middle finger. Scott wasn’t sure if Cole’s spit was aimed at the turian or Scott directly when it splattered across his cheek in a thick glob.

Scott felt Cole's skin separate under the blade; Scott watched, sickly mesmerized at the line of blood that swelled up underneath the thin edge. Cole was shaking under the knife, but his teeth were sunk into his cheek and he barely hissed as the blood swelled into a thick ooze.

“I can’t,” Jaime blurted. “I can’t tell you where Crux is!”

Scott’s hand started to shake as soon as the turian loosened his grip and turned him away from Cole without carrying the cut through.Scott's numbed fascination was replaced by a tremor that worked up his arm and over his entire body, leaving him with the overwhelming desire to collapse. The turian kept him gripped to his chest with his hand around Scott’s, but stopped to listen.

“I don’t contact the Charlatan, I don’t contact Crux directly,” Jaime continued at the end of the asari’s gun. “I tell Keema, Keema tells them, and she shares the meeting spot with both of us.”

“Then you can contact Keema, and set up a meeting,” the turian decided.

“ _In person_ ,” Jaime corrected. “The Charlatan doesn’t leave ways for the Initiative to find her. Not even an encrypted address, except to Keema and her top commanders. If I don’t meet with Keema in person, she doesn’t try to get Crux, that’s the deal.”

“Bullshit,” the asari tilted Jaime’s head with a push from her gun.

“She’s not stupid, Crux isn’t going to risk the Initiative using my information to get to her. Even if I could convince Keema to bend the rules, it won’t work now,” Jaime insisted, frantic but convincing even to Scott. “My crew knows we’re missing, they’ll be looking. The Collective probably knows, and that means Crux will go so far underground that even Keema might not find her.”

“There were people outside the bar,” Scott added, wincing when the turian tightened his grip. “It’ll be an obvious trap if the Pathfinder asks to meet the day after the Initiative starts looking for us.”

The asari drew her gun away from Jaime’s temple and the turian irritably jostled Scott as he thought. Cole sat forgotten, sucking in uneven breaths while he had the chance. Scott clung to a sense of reprieve. The Ryders’ value as a bargaining chip came with a price—the Outcasts couldn’t use the Ryders as bait in a trap. 

Scott gasped in air as the turian threw him into his cell and closed the door. Jaime sank into her seat obediently while the turian paced around Cole. The turian’s anger was obvious, but Jaime and Scott’s warnings had undercut his threats.

“We’ll see,” the turian decided coldly.

It was a pathetic victory for now. Scott was still shaking and Jaime looked almost translucent under the harsh lights. Cole’s hand was still dripping onto the floor while Cole trembled in the chair. Cole’s thick spit smeared in a sticky trail when Scott scrubbed off his cheek with his sleeve. But the turian left the Ryders to observe for the time being.

Cole’s tolerance and stamina were impressive. The turian worked on him for more than two hours, leaving the gaping troughs in Cole’s fingers open and seeping. The trickles of blood crawled down the chair’s arms to drip onto the floor, expanding sticky puddles to join under the lifeless fingertips. But Cole divulged nothing, even managing to muster up a wisecrack once the shock had settled in. The interrogation lasted long enough to rouse Tejna, earning a wide-eyed apathetic stare as the angara hobbled to a new corner and collapsed. 

Eventually, the turian gave up or grew bored with Cole. He dispensed the promised medigel in generous dollops directly onto the open wounds as if it was a kindness. Cole’s separated finger lay on the floor, stained with fresh blood over the previous coating of dirt. The turian picked it up on his way by, tipping it in the light as the asari threw Cole back into his cell.

“It’s more like a flesh wound,” the turian shook off the finger in Cole’s direction. “We do just fine.”

“For arrogant pricks,” Cole crawled with one hand to the interior of his cell. Leaking blood, sweat, and froth, Cole reached the back wall and fell behind Egeria’s knees.

The turian ignored the muffled insult and guided a sluggishly compliant Jaime to her cell. Jaime’s body language had collapsed, mimicking Cole’s cowed shuffle without the smirk. Scott couldn’t bring himself to meet Jaime the cell door. If he was honest, he felt himself shrink from the turian. Jaime let the turian push her to her knees and hunkered against the wall as the turian locked the door securely. The smell of blood was clogging the air, but the turian and asari left the congealing puddle untouched as they left and plunged the room into darkness. Maybe they would send the salarian in with food and water; maybe that wasn’t doled out for hours Scott couldn’t track in the isolated room.

“Let me see,” Egeria ordered as soon as the door thunked shut. Cole grunted and then snarled at the turian’s efforts to see his hand. Egeria responded with a stern cuff to Cole’s head that forced him to uncurl. Turning Cole’s hand over in spite of Cole’s whines, Egeria grumbled. “He’s right. Leave that to heal and the marks’ll be gone in a day or two.”

“They cut off my _fucking finger,_ ” Cole’s resilience and voice broke in savage hisses. “It’s _gone_ , he fucking took it as a souvenir.”

Scott saw Cole’s eyes flash in his direction, anger and resentment curdling what teasing interest he had shown toward twins earlier that day. Scott didn’t like being included in the “they,” but he could still feel the hilt of the knife—warm and damp from Jaime’s palm and the sprinkles of Cole’s blood—fitting into his hand. Egeria shot Scott glance as well, seeming more impatient than hostile.

“You can work fine with nine fingers,” Egeria lectured. Flattening Cole’s four-fingered hand against her knee, Egeria fussed over the damage. “He could have dislocated your shoulder again, or chopped them all off. Or just taken your thumbs.”

Scott snapped himself out of his eavesdropping to the sound of cloth tearing across the cell. Muttering at herself in a string of nonsensical curses, Jaime ripped her blood-stained sleeve along the seam until it was split to her elbow. Tearing the cloth free with a savage sniffle, Jaime scrubbed at her hands until the cloth twisted on itself and started to fray.

“Fuck,” Jaime snapped the scrap furiously. “You piece of shit.”

“Oh, fuck _you_ ,” Cole spat, sitting up with great effort. Cradling his mangled hand to his chest, Cole stumbled out of Egeria’s grip toward the bars. “You’re not even bruised, _shut up_.”

“Stop moving,” Egeria stayed crouched and didn’t try to stop Cole. “You’re going to reopen it.”

Cole snarled at the turian’s blunt scolding. Egeria grumbled and turned on her crouched heels to watch the impending conflict with the same unalarmed expression she had worn all day. 

Jaime twined the soiled strip of cloth between her fingers as she stood and walked with deliberate steps to the bars. Scott followed Jaime slowly, cursing his own numb cowardice at Cole’s caustic glare. Scott had deluded himself into forgetting that Collective thugs were just as dangerous as their Outcast counterparts. Stained with blood and shaking in a combination of fading shock and fresh rage, Cole emitted a feral aggression that promised trouble.

“They make cybernetics,” Jaime explained in staggered syllables. “Once we’re out of here, I can-“

Cole hacked a purposeful mass of spit into Jaime’s face, catching her across the bridge of her nose. Jaime hadn’t even tried to dodge. 

“I don’t need charity and more BS sniveling from Initiative lapdogs,” Cole growled. “You’ve done enough.” 

Cole clenched his mangled hand around the bars in front of Jaime’s eyes. His fingers open and closed spastically, stretching the lumps of fresh skin on his knuckles. His pinky joint ended in puckered skin which covering the bone but was still damp with medigel and blood. 

“Learn to lie better,” Cole instructed wrathfully. “Or go back to playing dead.”

Jamie jerked as if she had been slapped and Cole lost a shade of color in his face when his limp hand skidded down the bar. Egeria was on her feet as soon as Cole swayed through shout of pain and caught his bad hand.

“I warned you,” Egeria chided. Catching Cole around the shoulders and forcing him to sit against the back wall, Egeria ordered over her shoulder, “Give me something to wrap this with.”

“I don’t need their shit,” Cole gurgled.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Egeria scoffed. “Pride’s what got you here, and I’m not sacrificing my stuff for your ego.”

Jaime was tugging at her other sleeve before Scott had fully processed the command. Egeria pushed Cole down when he tried to rise, glancing between Cole and the Ryders impatiently. Scott jumped when Egeria settled on him.

“Your jacket?” Egeria suggested condescendingly.

A small part of Scott clung to the comfort of the jacket. It was an extra resource in the bare cells, and was another element of familiarity that Scott was loathed to relinquish. Jaime’s sleeve tearing apart and Cole’s whines of discomfort squashed the selfish thought. Peeling off the jacket and extending it through the bars, Scott winced away from Egeria’s claw snatching it away from him. Egeria neatly slit the seam and tore off a wide section of the sleeve before tossing the jacket back in Scott's direction. Waiting until Egeria was bent over Cole and mumbling at him to behave, Scott reached through the bars and hugged the reclaimed jacket to his chest.

“Stop proving you can move them. You’re lucky he didn’t finish those other cuts, don’t do it for him,” Egeria commanded, ignoring Cole’s offended yelp when she pulled the wrapping tight. 

Egeria dispensed her instructions with a second soft cuff in response to Cole jerking his hand away possessively. Offering no other comfort or sympathy, the turian went to wrestle Tejna into sitting up. Scott sensed military brusqueness in the turian’s behavior. She was pragmatic but not apathetic in her comfort and aid, calming Cole down for his own benefit as much as for herself. Sufficiently chastened, Cole settled into his corner sullenly, already picking at the edges of the improvised bandage while Egeria wasn’t looking.

“This doesn’t make us even,” Cole warned, fatigue robbing him of his previously scathing growls.

“I know,” Jaime mumbled. 

Jaime lethargically stumbled back to the opposite wall under Cole’s glare. Safe against the wall, Jaime sank into a huddle with her chin on her knees while Cole crumpled into the fetal position beside Egeria. Scott willed himself to say something positive as he watched Jaime weave the bloodied scrap of cloth between her fingers and breath in short bursts.

“Here,” Scott extended the jacket to Jaime as the one comfort he had.

Jaime jerked her head up from her knees. Hurriedly scooting over to make room for Scott along the expanse of empty wall, Jaime shoved the scrap of cloth into her pocket where she thought Scott couldn’t see. Of all the fibs today, it was the most innocuous, but it dug under Scott’s skin in a conflicting mix of concern and frustration. This was not the Jaime Scott had grown up with; Jaime had always been energetic and open, even when it was nervous energy that bubbled into rattled anxiety. She had lied to Scott a total of three times since they were eight. She had always been more scientist than soldier, unquestionably qualified but more keen on discovery and diplomacy than combat. 

“You ok?” Jaime sniffed. She ignored the jacket, speaking to Scott’s shoulder instead of meeting his eyes. “I should have known the asari wasn’t going to shoot, but I froze.”

Scott scrubbed his sweaty hands off against his sleeves. Jaime stared at him, her green eyes--one of the few physical features the twins shared--wide, dark, empty, and as jarringly unfamiliar as everything else since they had landed on Kadara. Scott had never fully absorbed the reality of Jaime parlaying with gang lords, supervising duels, or delving into Kadara’s corruption. Yet here she was: hunkering in a cell with blood caked under her fingernails while every outlaw on the planet knew her name as a hired killer. 

“I’m ok.” Scott assured automatically. If Jaime could lie, so could he.“The gun scared me too.”

“But….you’re ok?” Jaime repeated. Same inflection, as if he hadn’t heard or answered the question.

“Yeah, I’m ok,” Scott reiterated. “You?”

Jaime nodded her head. She still had flecks of Cole’s spit across her nose and cheeks.

“Here,” Scott finished Egeria’s tear in the jacket’s sleeve. Crooking his finger at Jaime to catch her attention, Scott carefully wiped the spit away from Jaime’s eyes and off her nose. 

“I’m sorry,” Jaime’s voice was ragged and tired. “I shouldn’t have brought you here. I was hoping that if he was hassling _me_ , he wouldn't-”

“I asked to come to Kadara, and you're not the jackoff holding the knife,” Scott reminded, dabbing at the water and remaining spit under Jaime’s eyes. “Besides, I’ve been in worse scrapes, and we’re gonna get out of this too. Hold still.”

Jaime stopped half-way through shaking her head in disagreement to let Scott finish drying her eyes. Scott wasn’t lying, exactly; the experience with the Archon had been more painful than this, and he had a better idea of what awaited him this time. He knew that he had his own rescue squad on the way, and could imagine the fate of the first Outcast stupid enough to challenge Cora’s biotics. None of that gave him food, water, or safety, but they gave him some hope.

“Did he hurt you?” Scott tossed the rag away. “When he shook you?”

“Mm-mm,” Jaime leaned back into the wall with him. She spoke more clearly than her stuttered apologies. “It sounded harder than it was, with his armor. What about your back?”

“Same,” Scott arched his back gingerly. “It’s weird. He _acts_ like a cop, or a military guy, he knows how to keep someone still or hit the right nerves in an interrogation. But that temper makes him...sloppy, and breaks his flow.”

“Yeah…” Jaime scuffed her toe along the floor. “Lexi had a theory about that. A lot of oulaws exhibit signs of…mental degradation, abnormal neurological readings…because of complications in cryo. It can make them erratic. She developed a serum, but we haven’t reached everyone, maybe he…maybe.”

Jaime sighed heavily, rubbing her hands up her face and through her hair. Swallowing loudly and wiping her nose, Jaime sat up straight and crossed her legs in front of her, more alert and obviously thinking.

“Think they’re gonna ransom us?” Scott asked carefully. “Us for the Charlatan?”

“They might try,” Jaime nodded. Scott winced in sympathy through Jaime’s rough cough. The sips of water she had had were offset from the hours of talking and continuous anxiety.

Jaime picked at her nails while Scott watched, lost in her own thoughts or a conference with SAM in Scott’s place. She didn’t look hopeful for a ransom deal, even as a last resort. Scott replayed the interrogations to himself, trying to find a solution or sign of weakness on the turian’s part. All he found was Ryder’s uncertainty and the turian’s relentless demanding questions.

“Crux…” Scott almost left the hushed question there, but couldn’t. “Crux…isn’t the Charlatan, is she?”

Jaime jerked sharply. Scott didn’t look away, watching Jaime until Jaime looked back to him and the forbidding expression melted into one of exhaustion and worry. Scott wasn’t even surprised when Jaime shook her head slowly and guiltily tugged trailing threads out of her sleeve.

“Scott, leave it, for now.” Jaime begged, reaching to grip his arm. “I’ll explain, but not _here_ , ok?”

“Why didn’t you explain _before_ , after everything else?” Scott asked.

_Before we got here_ , Scott added to himself.

“Because it’s complicated,” Jaime stuttered, twining loose threads around her fingers. “It’s not easy, it’s not…it’s a twisted fucked up mess that we made work, but it’s still fucked up. Not everything, not _everyone_ , there’s good people here, we’ve done some good. But…things on Kadara aren’t clear, everything…everything on Kadara is grey. Sloane and the Charlatan especially.”

Jaime seemed to choke on the words. Scott felt guilty and disappointed as he watched Jaime shut down again. She was hugging her knees, looking as guilty and disappointed as Scott felt, but Scott sensed the disappointment was toward herself. For what: avoiding Scott’s question, or everything the turian had dragged out of her? From Jaime’s despondent hunch, Scott wasn’t sure it mattered.

“I can deal with grey areas,” Scott reminded Jaime. “You don’t have to protect me from everything or only tell me the highlights, I can handle the messy fucked up stuff too.”

“I know,” Jaime tried to sound convinced. Turning her head to rest her cheek on her knees, Jaime admitted, “But I couldn’t figure out how to explain it to you.”

Jaime looked up at Scott. With dark circles under her eyes and stale sweat coating her pale skin, she looked exhausted and rattled to the point of feverishness. Even if Scott could pry an explanation out of her now, he doubted it would tell him anything useful, even if Jaime could coherently string it together. 

“Ok,” Scott was too tired, thirsty, and hungry himself to argue. “We can work on that once we get out of here.”

Lacking any other reassurance, Scott rubbed Jaime’s back gently. Jaime’s eyes closed slowly, her back rising and falling shallowly under Scott’s hand. Whatever annoyance Scott felt was quelled by his instinct to brace Jaime as she buckled under the constant pressure. Jaime forced her eyes open, her eyes gradually sputtering back into the strong green Scott usually found.

“I miss Dad at times like this,” Jaime admitted. Lowering her eyes at the rare sentiment, Jaime mumbled, “He always knew where he was going. Even when he had no _clue_ what he’d find there, he saw the way forward.”

_He always thought so, anyway,_ Scott’s old bitterness bubbled up habitually. Even Jaime looked unsure of the praise.

“We’ll find a way out,” Scott insisted.

“I know,” Jaime nodded, dredging up conviction from somewhere. “I just wish I could figure things out as easily as Dad seemed to.”

_I don’t_ , Scott had had enough of his father’s grand schemes and secret arrangements. _Whatever secret method Dad had, it usually left the rest of us to catch up. If we could_.

Jaime’s eyes closed again, staying closed as Scott continued the reassuring pats to her back. The comforting gesture soothed him. It was the only useful thing he had done all day. Jaime’s tense muscles melted into a pale imitation of relaxation as she drifted off into a faltering doze, jerking awake every few minutes to begin the cycle anew. Scott covered himself with the jacket and thought wistfully of the luxurious comforts of the Tempest. Drack’s cooking…Liam’s reliable stash of beer…the heavy soft blanket Sahuna had given him...a cleansing shower…a shower with Cora…

Still, Scott thought as he watched Tejna’s immobile form and Cole moaning over his hand, Scott still had all of his faculties and extremities. That was something. For Kadara, it seemed like a goddamn miracle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely comments! I'm a little shy/awkward about responding directly, but I really appreciate the feedback from readers!


	6. Chapter 6

“Thanks for making space for us,” Cora was at her most courteous while she watched the Nexus transport ship land in Ditaeon. “And the shuttle’ll be an asset.”

“It’s what this outpost is for,” Christmas brushed off the thanks. “The Pathfinder gave us a foothold here, least we can do is let you use the resources we have.”

“Any Outcast sightings?” Liam asked.

“Not even the usual gunshots in the distance,” Christmas muttered. Scratching his head bashfully at the two of them, Christmas continued, “That’s probably a good thing, y'think?”

Cora scanned the port while Liam awkwardly thanked Christmas Tate for his input.The transport ship killed its engines and settled on the ground with a worn groan. Vetra had positioned herself at the front of the loading dock crew, salivating as much as a turian could over the prospect of new goods and the Pathfinders aboard. Drack was doing his best to lumber after Jaal’s pacing and Peebee’s accompanying skips in a vain attempt to steer them away from disturbing the dock workers. Cora placed her hands on the railing and leaned down, trying to stretch out the constricting ache that had engulfed her back for the last 3 days.

“Kallo and Gil are getting her squared away,” Lexi broke into Cora’s thoughts.

Cora pulled herself upright, stifling a groan when her back recoiled into a solid clump of tension. All of Cora’s training should make this second nature, but her sense of control only eroded with every passing question, request, and most strangely, word of encouragement.

“And Dr. Nakamoto has agreed to let me use his examination room,” Lexi continued as if she didn’t notice Cora composing herself. “I want to see Ryder and Scott as soon as you find them.”

“Do you think their implants have been affected?”

“The scambler shouldn’t _harm_ them,” the marking up Lexi’s chin stretched under her bitten lip. “But we have no way of knowing what other devices they might have, or what they might be trying to do. They aren’t Knight, but they could see SAM as a threat.”

“And Scott’s condition?” Cora asked the question she had wanted to ask first.

Cora could read the suppressed sympathy under Lexi’s professionally considerate expression. Lexi would never risk ruining her professional reputation by admitting a strong personal fondness for her charges, but she hid it badly in the company of the crew. Her eye had been fixed on Scott throughout his recovery, probably for longer than was strictly necessary.

“Scott has returned to practically perfect heath, and he’s as qualified as his sister,” Lexi reminded, lifting her palm when Cora thought about interjecting. “Meaning he’s as fit as could be hoped for.”

“He was qualified in the Milky Way, on a contained military outpost,” Cora reassessed. “Nothing _prepares_ you for Kadara.”

“He completed much of the same training you did, and nothing could fully prepare any of us for Heleus,” Lexi countered. 

Cora felt Lexi’s words shift from casual conversational to analytical. It was an ever present pitfall of small talk with the doctor.

“ _But_ most of us weren’t kidnapped on our first day out,” Cora explained. “Blown up and shot at, but not personally targeted and kidnapped.”

“This is hardly Scott’s ‘first day out’ in Heleus,” Lexi reminded with a short smile. “Did you worry this much about Ryder after Habitat 7?”

“ _That’s_ a loaded question,” Cora challenged.

“It is.”

Lexi patiently perched herself on the platform’s railing while Cora thought. Cora knew why Lexi was prying: Cora’s initial professionalism with Jaime had let her balance objectivity with growing personal fondness, whereas her relationship with Scott had started as friendly before growing into something intimate. Cora had long since lost what objectivity she had, and that feeling added another layer of stress to an already crushing load.

“Lexi, you know this is different,” Cora didn’t have time for a full session.

“I know. I was hoping _you_ would admit that,” Lexi replied. “Emotional attachments have the potential to be an advantage, or a disadvantage, depending how one directs them. I’m sure you know that.”

“I’m focussed, Lexi,” Cora promised. “On getting _both_ of them back. Just because I…worry…about them differently, doesn’t change that.”

Cora eagerly watched over Lexi’s shoulder as Avitus and Raeka disembarked from the cargo ship, and she was glad to see Liam politely cut Christmas Tate off to go greet them. Vetra caught Cora’s eye across the compound before Jaal nudged her and Peebee to follow him. Lexi looked over to the new arrivals, letting relief pass over her face for just an instant.

“I didn’t mean to question your competence, Cora,” Lexi promised. “We all have a personal stake here, I’m just trying to help with the crew’s perspectives.”

“I know. You’re right,” Cora replied with sincerity to match. “Are you doing ok?”

Lexi’s eyes widened in unconscious surprise. As far as she told the crew, Lexi never had trouble coping. That was a lie she was frighteningly good at. Talking to the floor instead of Cora, Lexi admitted, “I put in a call to Harry. I thought he deserved to know.”

_Not really what I was asking_ , Cora decided not to pry when Lexi subtly leaned away from the question. 

“Good. He’d want to know,” Cora offered what comfort she could. Noticing Avitus casting a questioning glower over the settlement, Cora added, “I should…”

“Of course,” Lexi waved her away,. “I’ll be helping Dr. Nakamoto if you need me.”

Cora jogged down the stairs to meet the Pathfinders. Avitus was already to business, questioning Liam for more updates with each step. Raeka was quietly attentive, coming to terms with Liam’s explanations through a thoughtful tilt of her head. Jaal rushed for the pair of Pathfinders with Peebee and Vetra close behind; Avitus had already noticed the angara’s sprint for him and was uneasily angling himself behind Liam and Raeka for safety. Raeka spotted Jaal a moment later, straightening up from listening to Liam and offering the approaching crew her slight smile. Cora quickened her pace to collide with Jaal and the others in front of the Pathfinders.

“Lieutenant Harper,” Raeka offered a strong handshake. 

“Is this all the Initiative sent?” Jaal accused in disbelief.

“I put in a request for more manpower, but that has to be run by Kandros and Addison first,” Avitus comforted gruffly. “We wanted to head out faster.”

“What’s to process?” Peebee demanded. “You said we needed manpower, can’t they just send what they have?”

“It’s more than a question of bodies, it’s a question of qualifications,” Raeka talked over the crew’s agreeing grumbles. “Most of our military personnel are still coming out of cryo.”

“And I can’t send scientists against gangs. Redistributing soldiers leaves defenses imbalanced,” Avitus continued. “And we can’t leave entire outposts open to an attack, even for a rescue.”

Raeka bobbed her head while Avitus kept his eye quietly on Jaal. Jaal was practically pulsing with anger, souring the air around the group even as Peebee stroked his arm and Vetra whispered something soothing about formalities. Drack growled scornfully at Avitus without putting energy into a futile protest. Shrugging Peebee off carefully, Jaal accused, “They have to do _something_.”

“But it has to be _strategic_ ,” Avitus stressed levelly. “We can’t yank units away from their posts without organizing them first.”

“They’ll send more people, though?” Peebee prodded. “Once Tann gets off from stamping something?”

It was less than a heartbeat, but Avitus’ pause seemed to Cora to last an eternity. Raeka’s eyes flicked in his direction under a quick blink, Avitus’ inhale to answer took too long, and the scrape of his jaw was just audible before he found the conviction to assure, “Damn right he will.” 

Drack continued to rumble doubtfully until Vetra swung an elbow into his chest. Avitus straightened up and squared his shoulders as Jaal’s eyes blazed. Jaal had pulled himself up to his full height combatively, but Cora could see Jaal’s Resistance training force him to calculate the military logistics Avitus was succinctly reiterating to him. It forced Jaal’s chin down in infuriated defeat. Avitus relaxed his formal stance to stand crooked, scratching his claw against his armor uncertainly.

“It seems we’re no closer to finding the Pathfinder and Scott, despite the Charlatan’s contribution?” Raeka asked all of them.

“H-They have Collective combing through the mountains,” Vetra habitually corrected herself in the presence of Nexus authorities. Raeka ignored the stutter, sharing a look with Avitus that indicated he had already shared Reyes’ identity. “But without a trail to follow, its hit or miss on finding something.”

“So far, misses,” Drack observed bitterly. “Big planet, and the outlaws burrow underground like thresher maws around here.”

“Buuuut, SAM got names for the three who snatched them,” Liam’s attempt at enthusiasm rang thin. “And one of them, Kyle Bessette, was a shuttle pilot who flew the exiles off the station, and still has docking clearance for trade. The Collective’s looking for them, too.”

“Can we trust the reports to be accurate?”

“No,” Avitus and Jaal scoffed in unison, seconded by Peebee’s, “Pro’lly not,” Drack’s grating chuckle,  and Liam’s scathing, “Like hell.”

“We’ll need to verify everything the Charlatan says, we know that,” Vetra finished more politely. “But he is cooperating.”

“I see,” Raeka’s wide eyes searched the port. “And where is…he?”

“He ‘has deliveries to make,’ and he won’t ‘meet at an Initiative outpost.’” Reyes had made that clear, and Cora hadn’t even bothered with being surprised, let alone a indulge another squabble. 

“But we can get ahold of him to set up a meeting point,” Liam added. 

Noticing Avitus’ brewing objection, Drack concluded, “Makes sense, if he can’t have Tartarus. It’s how he usually runs into Ryder.”

Raeka nodded calmly. Avitus started something but trailed off wordlessly, quieting next to Raeka and watching her for a reaction opposite the Tempest crew. He was trying to remain calm and controlled to the point of physical exertion, copying Raeka in lieu of his customary growls and commands. Cora filled her chest slowly, hoping they could all match the effort. 

“Then we should meet this Charlatan, as soon as possible,” Raeka decided definitively. “Strictly speaking, we should have been introduced sooner.”

“I’ll see if he’s nearby,” Vetra volunteered, detaching herself from the group to fiddle with her omnitool.

“Can we get you anything else?” Cora offered, counting in her head to soothe herself.

Raeka offered a quick, “No, thank you, Lieutenant,”while she observed Vetra. Avitus started shaking his head, shifting his weight back uncertainly as Gil, Suvi, and Kallo descended on them from the Tempest with a fresh aura of hope. Sighing softly to himself, Avitus leaned against the railing and smiled at all of them.

“Have the Nexus heads told anyone what’s happening?” Cora asked. “They won’t want to panic the public, but there have to be procedures in place.”

“To say Pathfinder Ryder and Scott vanished on the exile colony?” Avitus grimaced. “Addison and Tann are still trying to make that sound pretty. Even Kesh doesn't want to announce anything yet. Kandros must have told some of his officers, in case demands come in, but its strictly need to know.”

“'Need to know?' They can’t hide it forever,” Gil squawked indignantly. “A broadcast might get more than enough volunteers to pad the search parties.”

“And have citizens roaming across Kadara, mixing with the exiles?” Kallo commented doubtfully. “That wouldn’t be safe.”

“Do you want to do the legwork?” Gil shot back angrily.

“I can’t, anymore than _you_ can, but we need a _solution_ , not more problems,” Kallo retorted through an offended shudder. Gil popped his mouth open sharply, hissing in defeat when Kallo sniffed in half-hearted triumph.

“Both of you, shush,” Suvi scolded, pushing her way between the bickering pair. 

Kallo backed away from Suvi’s hand on his chest, shaking his head grimly. Gil flicked two choice fingers in Kallo's direction behind Suvi’s shoulder before Liam thumped an apologetic cough out of him. So much for remaining calm. Cora just prayed the pair’s tempestuous truce would hold under the pressure.

“No one is asking you to join the search parties,” Avitus interjected firmly. “And unless we have a way to smuggle nonessential personnel here without Tann and the others finding out, that strategy is going nowhere.”

“We could probably arrange something,” Drack bared all of his teeth in a grin.

“Before we throw fighters at random, I’d like to speak to the bartender,” Avitus decided hastily. “And the stripper, if he’ll let us.”

“Kian?” Peebee offered helpfully. “We already talked to him.”

“The Charlatan talked to him,” Avitus contradicted. 

“ _No_ , Vetra and _I_ talked to him,” Peebee corrected peevishly. “He told us exactly the same thing: three thugs, Sejanus got thrown, that’s all he knows.”

“And maybe it is. But I still want to question him, officially. Maybe there’s something he forgot to mention. Or didn’t mention,” Avitus suggested pointedly.

Peebee sniffed unhappily, prompting Cora to nod quickly as compensation for sharing a moment of doubt with her. Avitus and Raeka were, objectively, right: Reyes and his associates hid things by nature. No one wanted to stumble through a questioning, but a few questions shouted over drinks was hardly definitive, and Peebee was letting her bias against authority figures and her personal fondness for the sights at Tartarus make her defensive.

“We’ll have to do the same with the Charlatan. You’ve been talking to them personally, of course,” Raeka rejoined the conversation softly. “But the Nexus wants detailed accounts of what happens here. Avitus and I will have to question them more officially.”

“Oooh, Re-the Charlatan’s going to _love_ that,” Liam snorted.

“The Charlatan will have to adapt to the circumstances.”

Raeka raised her shoulders without any remorse. Avitus nodded in agreement.Looking at the to Pathfinders, standing stiff and already suspicious, Cora couldn’t ignore the nagging sensation that they were dangerously out of place on Kadara. Nexus officials throwing their weight around the port rarely proved as useful as it was detrimental. From the looks on the others’ faces, even Kallo's, they all had the same discomfort.

“No luck, he must be on a job,” Vetra strode amongst tension without seeming bothered. “I gave him three hours to get in touch with us, or we’ll have the whole port looking for him.”

“Fine. We can talk to Keen now,” Avitus decided and pushed himself up from the railing with purpose.

_Kian_ , Cora almost corrected before she caught herself. Kian could correct Avitus himself, if he really wanted the Pathfinder to retain his name.

“We should also look at the crime scene with your SAM,” Raeka agreed as she followed him.

“I already did that with our SAM,” Liam protested.

“It’s the lead we have,” Avitus was already making a beeline for the shuttle. 

Glancing at the restless crew around her, Cora quickly did math in her head. A mob at the bar could draw even more attention they didn’t want and preemptively put the patrons on the defensive. Instinct told her to leave Jaal behind before an outburst disrupted an interrogation, but now was not the time to question Jaal’s qualifications. Jaal, Vetra, Liam, and herself would accompany the Pathfinders to the port, while Drack, Suvi, and Lexi would supervise the crew in the settlement.Hopefully as a trio they could keep Kallo from pacing a hole in the floor and distract Gil and Peebee from a disastrous scheme. 

“They’re not going to like Avitus poking around,” Liam fell into step with Cora as they neared the shuttle. “Ex-Spectre is a whole different level of ‘the Man’ they don’t want here.”

“They’ll have to deal with it,” Cora echoed Raeka. “The Nexus isn’t going to turn a blind eye to this.”

“Think Avitus wants to…y’know, really crack down?” Liam pointed out. 

Cora had been hoping to avoid that question. Cora was no stranger to the fine art of interrogation, but interrogating civilians sounded like something Tann would approve of, while Ryder definitely wouldn’t. Cora couldn’t bring herself to imagine the results if they tried anything at Tartarus. Liam focussed on tugging his gloves straight as he muttered, “I’m not saying we _should_ , but I doubt he'll stop at a friendly chat.”

“We’ll see what we can get from Kian the usual way,” Cora sighed.

“Want me to fly her?” Vetra caught them entering the shuttle, and spared Cora from having to confront the conundrum yet.

Cora nodded and tapped a finger on her own cheekbone, smiling in spite of herself while Vetra briskly scrubbed a smudge of pink lipstick off of her cheek. Liam tumbled into a seat and skidded into Raeka as the shuttle took off and leveled out. Raeka nudged Liam off of her knee to twist toward the window; next to her, Avitus craned his neck back to see the ground below them. Cora watched the uncomfortably familiar planet roll past them to find what Avitus and Raeka were searching for. All she found was Kadara’s sparse plains climbing into mountains that were as rough and forbidding as the outlaws that inhabited them.

“It’s…beautiful,” Raeka remarked incongruously. “Harsh, but amazing geography.”

“It’s desolate,” Jaal grumbled. “The kett and Sloane Kelly made conditions even less tolerable.”

“The exiles must have been as much of a surprise as the kett,” Raeka murmured. “Arriving like that without warning.”

“It was shocking in its own way.” 

Liam sighed and Cora shot Jaal a sympathetic grimace across the aisle. They had all heard Raeka’s words before, from numerous diplomats and researchers stationed in angaran communities. Jaal recognized the statements as an attempt to make amends. He also hated the repetitive platitudes, and learned to keep his acknowledgment of them clipped. Now he was closely studying his omnitool, staring through the projection at Liam’s feet.

“From what I’ve heard of Sloane and her followers, it was jettison them or lose the Nexus,” Avitus thought aloud. “Even if we had known there were civilizations already here, it was better to cut the rebels loose fast and deal with the politics later.”

“Yes, that seemed to be their solution,” Jaal agreed.

Jaal closed his omnitool with a sharp clap and tapped his hand on his wrist in aggravation. Raeka shifted in her seat to study her lap, frowning to herself. Sensing new tension, Avitus cleared his throat coarsely while Jaal blinked at him.

“It was a shortsighted decision,” Avitus concluded. “It’s not a surprise the exiles would continue causing problems for both of us.”

Liam raised his eyebrows at Cora, mouthing something she couldn’t decipher. Cora pressed a finger to her lips before Liam crashed into the conversation. This was not a good foundation for Avitus’ introduction to the locals, but now was not the time for another educational disagreement. It wasn't ideal, but Avitus and Raeka would have to learn as they went, just as the rest of them had. Cora could feel Jaal look to Liam’s incredulous expression and her own weary hunch before he heaved a deep sigh.

“The angara here are already considered outside of our central community,” Jaal explained slowly. “Somewhat like your exiles. Life here was always difficult. At least your…. _the_ …new outlaws helped push out the kett with their arrival.”

Cora kept her eyes on the back of Vetra’s seat and silently begged for escape throughout the bumpy landing. Jaal rocketed out of his seat and out of the cabin before the door was fully open. Raeka slid out of her seat carefully, blocking Avitus in until Cora and Liam could follow Jaal.

“Good start,” Cora caught Vetra's grumble before she ushered the Pathfinders to the lift.

This was one of the newest hurdles Cora had seen coming without a way to solve it. Jaal and Avitus found common ground in discussing military maneuverings, but their views on diplomacy existed across a gulf; the turian tended toward pragmatism opposite the angara's instinctual empathy. Their discussions had a place on the Nexus, but promised trouble under the exhausting stress, particularly with Ryder and Scott at stake.

“You and Jaal go talk to Keema,” Cora implored Liam in the most official tone she had. “See what else she can give us on her missing guards.”

“You don’t want backup for Tartarus?” Liam balked.

“I’d rather limit ‘official interrogations’ to Nexus exiles. Evfra and Tann already disagree on how much the Initiative can police angara, and Evfra has some pull over Reyes and Keema,” Cora explained. “He and Jaal can ‘officially’ work on Keema.”

“Step on fewer toes, got it. Good luck,” Liam beckoned to Jaal and ducked into the crowd with his arm around Jaal’s shoulders.

_One problem…over there, for now,_  Cora watched until she saw Jaal stop protesting.

If Avitus had any lurking faith in the exiles from the shelter of the shuttle, it vanished as soon as he saw the slums. Raeka visibly recoiled when the smell hit her and looked equally doubtful when she noticed a cluster of exiles whispering to themselves nearby. Circling the explosive geyser and churned mud, Avitus cursed and shook his head. His scanner glowed shortly before Avitus jerked his head sharply and banished it.

“It’s soup,” he lamented. “Useless soup. There’s hundreds of muddled tracks.”

“Liam and I can give you what we found,” Vetra offered sweetly. “Maybe we’ll find something new at the bar.”

Avitus grunted and kicked thick mud off of his feet as he eyed a milling group of exiles. Cora had learned not to look at these meetings too closely unless she wanted to consciously ignore an impending crime or recent murder. Raeka had the courtesy to keep her inquisitive glances short and her pace quick. Avitus seemed to have the opposite approach, examining the residents at his leisure while radiating disapproval.

“Even across the universe, people make an _Omega_ ,” Avitus growled knowingly and kept his eye on a salarian digging through rubbish.

“They have to live somewhere,” Vetra reminded under her breath.

Then the exiles noticed them. Careless and quietly irked glances in Vetra's direction started to stick on Raeka and Avitus. Vetra locked eyes with several approaching exiles and reached a civil understanding, but other exiles took the invasion as a challenge and merged their numbers defensively. Raeka slipped behind Vetra, gripping Avitus’ elbow firmly when the turian unconsciously moved for his gun. Cora veered to steer the group into the relative safety of Tartarus before the combative stares could turn into active blows. 

The bar was more crowded than the streets, but the walls and Kian’s “no blood on the walls” policy decreased the chance of a knife to the back. Avitus scoffed at the female salarian slinking to the front of her cage to greet him, instinctively leaving a respectful gap between himself and the bars. Raeka barely paid the dancers a glance, standing on the tips of her toes to see above the customers.

“That’s the bartender we want?” Raeka asked Cora, pointing to Kian’s silhouette bustling from the bar to his storeroom. 

“Kian,” Vetra reiterated carefully into Avitus’ ear. “He’s the owner and the bartender.”

“Perfect,” Avitus shouldered off a hopeful human circling him. “He can point us to the dancer.”

With that, Avitus was striding for the packed bar top. Vetra groaned and hurried after him, leaving Cora to stick to Raeka in the crowd and hope Vetra reached Kian first. 

“Ryder likes drinking here?” Raeka asked Cora while they waited.

“She started coming for the people,” Cora explained and Raeka nodded in understanding. “But…yeah, I think it grew on her.”

“It’s impressive,” Raeka noted with audible interest. “Did they build it, or did the angara?”

“I…don’t know,” Cora admitted. “The angara were here first and must have made the filtration system for the water. But I think the exiles added the cages.”

“It’s a reasonable security measure,” Raeka praised. “Provided no one resorts to shooting.

Cora had never seen someone stupid enough to try, but Raeka didn’t seem interested in a reassurance. She looked surprisingly comfortable, drifting to make room for jostles and glares while she took in the sights. Excepting an inquisitive hum at the cages upstairs, Raeka examined the bar almost eagerly. Avitus, from what Cora could see, was quietly waiting under Vetra’s supervision, until he finally lost his temper at an asari trying to pass him and he issued a sharp order to send her scuttling. 

A scuffle beside Cora caught Kian’s eye before they did. The bartender straightened up with three beer bottles in each hand and his mouth open to shout. Kian blinked when he saw Cora, frowned when he saw Raeka, and clearly mouthed “oh, fucking…” when he got to Vetra and Avitus. 

“I already told you and Peebee everything I know,” Kian called over the noise as soon as they got in range.

“We’d still like to speak with you,” Avitus explained. “Go over the details.”

“I don’t keep track of the shit that happens outside, there’s a new feud every day,” Kian waved Avitus away from the bars and threw a beer at the nearest customer. “Only weird thing about this one was Ryder was involved.”

“Then you see why we need to talk to Sejanus,” Raeka complimented.

“And since you were the one to deliver the news to-”

“Sejanus is working,” Kian bluntly cut Avitus off. “Ya’ happen to notice, so am I.”

“I could ask you the question here,” Avitus offered, gesturing to the crowd around them.

Diplomacy was out the window then, Cora winced when Kian froze while lining up glasses. Avitus propped himself against the outside of the bar confidently to offer Kian his ear. Kian sucked in his cheeks while he tossed a bottle under the bar and mulled over the threat. 

“The Nexus outpost is some miles that way,” Kian pointed to the doors helpfully. “They have to answer your questions. I don’t have to _serve_ you, let alone shoot the shit with you.”

“I can still ask around,” Avitus informed cheerfully. “Inquire what your customers have seen, maybe find another witness. Or see if any of them can point us to the Charlatan, we’re looking for them. Someone here must know who they are…”

“But we’d be happy to do this more privately,” Raeka offered. 

Cora had to give Avitus credit, he had Kian by the balls and he hadn’t waste time with side threats. Kian’s supposed neutrality was a business measure as much as it was for personal safety. Kian raked his teeth over his upper lip and looked at Cora and Vetra expectantly. Cora couldn’t decide whether her silence felt wrong because Avitus was doing all the work, or because Kian was waiting for an intervention. 

“It’ll be easier if we get this over with,” Vetra insisted. “For everyone.”

That didn’t even sound convincing to Cora. Kian’s teeth clicked through a cold chuckle.

“Right,” Kian nodded. “Almost forgot, usually you tip me for these little talks.” Kian pointed to an asari sliding her hand toward the bars. “I will cut that off, sweetheart.”

“This isn’t just looking for Kadara gossip,” Cora threw her support behind Avitus. “You know why we’re asking. Your place, your employee...”

They might have just burnt a bridge, Cora realized when Kian narrowed his eyes at her weak attempt to mix a request with an order. Kian weighed his options, taking inhis bar possessively and flicking his eyes over Avitus with a cold dislike that Cora hadn’t seen before. Finally, Kian pushed himself up from the bar and hissed between his teeth.

“Sejanus is on the end up the stairs,” Kian pointed above his head. “You can talk while _he_ works.”

“And you?” Avitus goaded smugly.

“You don’t want me to leave without getting someone to hand out the drinks, trust me on that,” Kian jeered. “Hey, I said get back!”

Cora suppressed a jump when Kian smacked his hand on the bar in front Avitus’ face and rushed away before Avitus could retaliate. Vetra hooked her claw around Avitus elbow and dragged backwards, pushing her way through the crowd and ignoring Avitus’ indignant struggles until they were up the stairs. 

“We don’t have any authority here,” Vetra reminded Avitus. “Working with our contacts always gets us farther than trying to pull rank and force them into something.”

“I wasn’t pulling rank,” Avitus protested, reclaiming his arm. “And I can’t _force_ them to cooperate…but a blackmail can get the same job done.”

“That-!” Vetra bit her words short. 

Avitus cocked his head and the fight went out of Vetra in the instant it took for her to readopt the compliant persona she presented to the Nexus. Good Nexus employees did not meet business partners on Kadara, let alone get attached to them. Throwing her hands out from her sides, Vetra mumbled in concession, “Maybe it can. It can. But that doesn’t mean _we_ use it that way. We still work with these people, Ryder and-“

“Isn’t here,” Avitus finished with a perfected drop in his voice to soften the harsh reality. “You said it yourself, this isn’t a typical Kadaran problem. This isn’t Ryder reaching an agreement with the Charlatan, or Sloane, or one citizen. We don’t know who took them or where they are, and the only people who claim to have a lead are here. They might not like me asking questions, but if that’s what it takes to find them, I’ll live with that.”

Avitus’ statement wasn’t malicious, or even angry, but it was unwavering even as Vetra winced. When she had arrived on the Nexus, Cora would have had the same policy. It was one thing to sympathize with the exiles’ plight and have a mutual dislike for Tann. It was something else to jeopardize the entire mission for a malcontented hoard. Meeting the exiles for herself had weakened her resolve. Now, Cora just hoped the owner of the hypothetical feathers wasn’t someone they would need to grovel to later. 

Cora realized Avitus was looking to her for a verdict next to Vetra's. Cora couldn’t find a convincing or heartfelt rebuttal. Staying on the good side of Kadara's population was impossible, and fraying Kian's temper was a small price for information. 

“We only got the full story from _him_. Sort of, before he changed the subject,” Cora reminded, waiting until Vetra groaned in defeat. “And we couldn’t ask what we needed to at the bar. We’ll be quick.”

Vetra nodded shortly, holding her hands away from Avitus and exchanging a look with him that Cora considered an end to the discussion. Cora tried to radiate an apology when she caught Vetra’s eye behind Avitus’ back. She didn’t like trying to pull rank like this either.

“Excuse me,” Raeka’s polite summons distracted all of them. Looking up into the cage at the top of the stairs, Raeka called, “Are you Sejanus?”

The turian occupying the cage rotated on his heel to face them. If there had been a leg injury, he wasn’t showing it now, Cora observed from his confident strut to the front of the cage. 

“That’s me,” the turian confirmed. “Got a request?”

“Yes, actually,” Avitus looked Sejanus up and down while the other turian stretched helpfully. “If you could…er, come down here….please.” 

Sinking to the floor to consider the proposition at eye level, Sejanus stopped midway through a pelvic thrust. Recognition dawned rapidly, and after a last hopeful bounce in Vetra’s direction until she shook her head, Sejanus deflated resignedly. 

“We just want to talk,” Raeka assured. 

“But we can compensate you,” Vetra volunteered and Avitus nodded quickly.

Sejanus kept his arms and shoulders moving aimlessly in time with the music, but sat back on his heels and waited expectantly. He was a handsome turian: neat blue marks, plentiful fringe, and scattered scarring on his carapace that would have earned him respect among soldiers. Something told Cora that ‘dancer’ wasn’t his original or chosen profession.

“This is about the Pathfinder, huh?” Sejanus asked. “I already told Kian what I saw.”

“We know,” Vetra leaned closer to the cage with her hands resting in sight on her hips. “We’re just covering our bases, getting your version.”

Sejanus sighed and reclined back from his knees as he thought. He knew how to preen for an audience, Cora saw Raeka's brows rise and Vetra run a look over Sejanus' torso. As he rolled upright from the waist with purposeful ease, Cora caught Sejanus watching over their shoulders.

“I was just on my way in,” Sejanus didn’t sound uncertain or particularly interested in his story. “I heard shouting, but I just figured it was exiles duking it out. Same shit, different day.

“There was…a series of bangs, I saw them roll down the stairs from the upper walkway,” Sejanus continued more thoughtfully. Avitus leaned in next to Vetra, holding his hands up to bring Sejanus back when Sejanus quickly slid out of reach. “I thought the human female—must’ve been the Pathfinder—had tackled someone, but then she climbed off of him-“

“Who?” Raeka interrupted. “'Him' who?”

“Her brother, I guess, but I just saw it was a human male,” Sejanus explained. “They were scrambling around, then a female turian came down from the walkway, and this huge human and a salarian from the back.”

“You didn’t try to interfere?” Raeka asked simply.

“No,” Sejanus rolled his entire head at the idea. “I would have just ducked into Tartarus, neutral ground, but before I could someone threw out a biotic blast. A big one.”

“The Ryders are both biotics,” Cora offered as calmly as possible.

“Sure,” Sejanus agreed with a shrug. “Whoever it was, they did damage. It threw me into the roof, shattered my leg…I’m lucky I hit a puddle on the way down. Didn’t have much of a choice but stay down after that.”

“I couldn’t see them much, but soon after that things went quiet. Then the three, the salarian, turian, and big human, headed for the gate with them, the Ryders.”

Cora didn’t know why she had still been hoping for a different story. It was a grim blessing that Jaal hadn’t heard the words personally. Cora jumped when Raeka squeezed her arm gently. Cora stopped herself from twisting her arm free and pushing Vetra off. Even Avitus was watching her closely, letting Sejanus’ answer settle.

_Breathe…focus, think, and breathe_ , Cora’ chest staggered with each heartbeat.

“Did they say anything?” Cora felt herself blurt. 

“Or come back into the slums?” Avitus reclaimed the questioning smoothly with a last look at Cora.

_Is he trying to make this better?_ Cora raked her fingers through her bangs to avoid Avitus' gaze.

“They said things, to each other, but nothing I could make out. The salarian complained about the weight, I think. And they didn’t come back, not while I was there.”

“And you went to Kian immediately?”

“As soon as I could crawl in,” Sejanus sounded tired and had started stepping back from the bars. “I told him there was a fight, anyway.”

“You haven’t been approached since?” Avitus raised his voice.

“You’re the first who’ve asked,” Sejanus raised his arms and kicked with new vigor.

“And if they come here, you’ll be one of the first to know,” Kian punctuated behind them. 

Cora almost struck Kian in her sickened surprise. The bartender looked comfortably settled in the crook of the stairs. Avitus’ fist thumped against the lip of the cage harshly, sliding down to his side under Kian’s pinpointed stare and Sejanus’ automatic hop backwards. Motioning the party along the balcony, Kian called to Sejanus, “You can take a break, if they’re done with you.”

Sejanus didn’t wait for an answer. He sidestepped out of the cage and out of sight from the gawking customers before his arms dropped and the energetic facade evaporated. Raeka watched his feet quizzically as the strut turned into a tired limp on the stairs. Cora shuffled to let him pass, resisting the urge to grab him and hear the story again, just in case it would sound better the next time. Maybe there was a clue she had lost under the thump of the music. Sejanus picked his way through them nervously, pressing close to the wall to avoid touching Raeka and Vetra on his way by. 

“We promised compensation,” Raeka reminded.

Sejanus omnitool flared to life and dinged cheerfully from an exchange. Sejanus tried to check his spoils coyly behind his arm, but his eyes noticeably widened in the glow of the screen. Nodding to Raeka, Sejanus mumbled, “Good luck.”

Awkwardly bowing in farewell, Sejanus hurried down the stairs and out of sight. Kian crooked his finger, jolting a feeling of confusion out of Cora as he casually led them to Reyes’ room and briskly unlocked it. Waiting on the threshold as they entered, Kian explained loudly, “It’s not cheap, and you pay by the day, but you can keep it as long as you like. And yes, you still have to wait to be served downstairs.”

“Not even room service?” Avitus asked snidely, ducking into the room past Kian’s extended arm.

Kian chuckled mirthlessly and locked the door firmly behind him. Cora half expected to see Reyes lounging in the corner, complete with Ryder standing across from his teasing smirk. Vetra walked to the abandoned couch with a similar anticipation before sighing in defeat and collapsing back to sprawl in Reyes’ vacant throne. Avitus and Raeka remained ignorant of the significance, but gave the room a leery once over as they gingerly perching on the edge of the couch.

“Yeah, can’t promise that’s clean,” Kian agreed sardonically. “Can almost guarantee it isn’t, given what Reyes does on it.”

The bartender crossed his arms and poked his tongue against the inside of his cheek, smirking a little too knowingly at Raeka’s dubious scoot and Avitus' blink. Vetra rolled her eyes and propped her knee on the couch arm confidently, but Cora decided to stay standing at a safe distance. 

“You’ve got questions?” Kian reminded. “And I’ve probably already got a backlog of drinks to serve.”

“We just want to go over the details again," Cora informed.

"Reyes got distracted by our ship while he was telling us," Vetra added. "And we can't go over the fine details in the open."

Kian nodded at their joined effort to be polite, but didn’t look convinced.

“We heard them directly from Sejanus, at least up until he spoke with you,” Avitus raised his voice to draw Kian's attention. “But there’s a time gap I don’t understand. Why didn’t you contact the Charlatan or the Nexus as soon as you knew Ryder and her brother were missing?”

“Because I didn’t _know_ it was Ryder and her brother-“

“Scott,” Cora reminded the assembly. 

“Right, well, I didn’t know it was them,” Kian said. “‘I got caught in a fight’ is the same as ‘my alarm didn’t go off, boss.’ Biotics aren’t that weird with the asari around here. It wasn’t ’til Evfra got on Reyes’ case and Reyes asked around that it hit me and I told him to make himself scarce.”

“You didn’t think to investigate when Sejanus told you? You knew they were here,” Raeka forced herself to lean back on the couch.

“I didn’t see them leave,” Kian tipped his head back and sighed through his teeth at the ceiling. “They must have been gone for a good while before anyone noticed Sejanus.”

“Fine, I can understand losing them in the crowd out there,” Avitus sat up. “But did you notice anyone following them while they were here? Running into them at the bar top, or staying close to them around the tables?”

“Not that caught my eye,” Kian frowned upwards. “But I wasn’t watching when they weren’t ordering…until Ryder climbed on a table…”

“Was she drunk?” Avitus had never seen Ryder after two drinks too many. Cora felt a rush of embarrassment for Ryder until she saw Raeka cover her mouth quickly and Vetra brush off a fleeting smile at the thought.

“It’s not the first time she’s gotten drunk here,” Kian pointed out with his own chuckle. “Not the second or third, either.” 

“It is the first time she’s gone missing from here,” Avitus countered. “ _That’s_ a problem.”

Kian jiggled his jaw back and forth while Avitus cocked his head for an explanation. Vetra sat up slowly, studying Avitus out of the corner of her eye. 

“Yeah, I’ll give you that,” Kian settled his shoulders against the wall comfortably.

“Well, even Reyes didn't know that Ryder was here. But they still managed to find her and Scott here, somehow.”

“Any Outcast, mercenary, and asshole drinking here could see them,” Kian pointed at the hum of people outside the door.

“That’s true,” Avitus’ agreed too easily. “But for a chance encounter, they had a crew and shuttle ready in record time.”

Kian’s chin snapped forward and Vetra leaned on her knee to watch Avitus across Raeka’s lap. Cora didn’t like the new tone Avitus had: smoother somehow, almost too careful after his straightforward method with Sejanus. Kian’s posture had coiled from an easy slouch into a tight stance.

“The Outcasts still have friends in the port,” Kian explained calmly. “They could scare up a shuttle and crew over one drink.”

Crossing his legs comfortably, Avitus veered away from that question to ask, “Reyes mentioned that people were causing problems for him because emigration got shot down. Have you heard anything about _that_?”

**_That_** _?_ Cora sensed Avitus leaning into the word and Kian’s crossed arms tighten across his chest.

“Why would I? I happen to like the current administration. He’s a regular.” Kian gestured at the room. "The outpost gets me more customers, too."

“That wasn’t my question. Liking the Charlatan personally isn’t the same as agreeing with Tann and Addison’s policies,” Avitus accused lazily. Avitus brushed off his leg and continued over Kian’s silence. “I am surprised ‘the Charlatan’ is taking the restrictions so quietly. Open cooperation with Meridian and other colonies would be a considerable advantage for him. It would offer more contacts, a greater variation of goods and clients, better money, happier subjects. It might even placate his opposition, if they have the chance to leave. Hell of an opportunity to lose.”

Avitus passive observation hung in the air until Cora felt the full weight sink under her skin. Kian’s tired frown fell off his face and his eyebrows jumped up uncertainly. Cora turned to Raeka for help, but the salarian seemed unfazed by the turn. Vetra shifted in her seat silently.

Meridian would unquestionably offer Reyes the smuggler and The Charlatan an upgrade in clientele, goods, and approval ratings. The flow of goods was restricted by the limited trade the Nexus allowed to Kadara directly, and most of that was funneled through the outpost. Meridian was going to be the central seat of the Initiative’s population and commerce; keeping Kadara isolated limited their prosperity and influence.

“You know it was Outcasts that took them,”Kian returned Avitus’ accusation readily, but with less of his snide annoyance. 

“And Reyes said it himself, Ryder is a valuable bargaining chip," Avitus informed. "And we know that they got taken from here and that you didn't report that to the Tempest at all. And Reyes knew about it and didn't report it to us until after Evfra reached out to him. That worked out very well for the Outcasts. One hell of a headstart."

"And this wouldn’t be the first time the Charlatan used his opposition, or Ryder, to get what he wanted,” Avitus accused in the same casual tone, triggering a twitch across Kian’s face. “Or the first time you exiles united to force the Nexus’ officials hand.”

Kian’s face went blank. Vetra dropped her leg and leaned to look at Avitus sharply. Cora suppressed a shiver as she considered Avitus' implication. It could fit: Reyes had set up Ryder before, without even a hitch in his charm. SAM said Outcasts, but the Charlatan could easily twist a rise in tension to suit his designs or guide the Outcasts with a planted malcontent. Losing citizens to Meridian might be an acceptable price to break Kadara’s quarantine. Reyes humbly inserting himself into the investigation was the tried and true tactic that Reyes had used to gain the kingdom he had and would benefit from expanding and stood to shield him from suspicion if things went south. Cora didn't want to entertain the idea that they could so easily fall into the same trap twice, but Avitus' accusation only amplified doubts she hadn't wanted to confront. 

Cora's stomach punched itself when Kian coughed in his throat. Kian shook his head as the cough swelled into a chuckle that crawled up Cora’s spine. The bartender looked down his nose at Avitus in cool consideration. The defensive posture was replaced with an unimpressed slouch and a scathing sneer.

“‘United?’ ‘Force their hand?’” Kian asked in condescendingly distinct syllables. “Oof, you’ve been reading up, Pathfinder?”

“We read the reports on the uprising,” Raeka confirmed. 

“Yeah, sounds like something Tann or Addison would put down,” Kian agreed, licking the corner of his mouth in thought. “Something nice and threatening, even if it’s shite.”

“Maybe they imagined the mutiny?” Avitus sighed. "The station just spontaneously burst into flame and they doctored security logs?"

“Nah, a couple more hours and a few less krogan, Tann would have had his teeth kicked in, and most of us wouldn’t cry about it,” Kian admitted. There was a note of defiant pride in the bartender’s voice, but a frustrated sigh overrode any triumph. 

“But most of us didn’t even know there _was_ an uprising until _after_ Calix’s guys hit Hydroponics and were sweeping through the station,” Kian studied Avitus when the turian hesitated with resentful croak.“Addison and Tann were saying we were heading for stasis, Hydroponics was smoking, and Calix was leading a gang with guns through the station and telling everyone that we were as good as dead if the heads put us back on ice.”

“We wanted answers. All of us were pissed off, some of us were armed, and Calix was telling us to _do something_. So people started throwing punches. At Calix's men, at each other, you couldn't ask what side people fell on over the shouting. And when security came and started punching, we hit back until they split.”

“And then you started looting,” Avitus accused. 

“Yup,” Kian agreed matter-of-factly.“It was already fucked and security had already decided to pack us all away, why not get some supplies?If you weren’t officially with Calix by then, you were when the krogan hit. Mostly because that was the only direction to go. That didn’t do much for Calix, though.”

Kian blew out an explosion, spreading his fingers out from the side of his head to mimic the splatter of a headshot. Avitus scowled at him coldly, but Raeka’s brows knit together quizzically. Cora looked to Vetra for help, but Vetra was studying the floor with a steely frown. Kian dropped his hand carelessly and lounged back against the wall.

“After that, we sat in cells until we were dragged out and given the ‘choice,’” the words oozed out of Kian’s mouth scornfully.“All of us, one mass sentencing. With Sloane at the front, barking same as always. So we chose exile. At least then we’d be awake when we died. You’ll notice how that turned out for us.”

Kian raised his hands to indicate the worn room and the harsh world around it. Avitus flicked his eyes around the room obligingly, leaving Cora wondering if it was sarcastic or not. Raeka was perfectly still, watching Kian speak without as much as a fidget or a sigh. Vetra leaned on her knee, picking at her dangling claws with harsh clicks.This was not the story Cora was used to, even when she took Tann’s and Addison’s versions with a mountain of salt. She doubted this was without its own embellishments and select omissions, but the disastrous conclusion was certainly evident. 

“Yeah, we mutinied, you got me,” Kian raised his hands in an exaggerated show of defeat. “But we weren’t a ‘we’ then, and no one I know would be stupid enough to try this now.Sloane could talk about war until she choked, but she’s dead for a reason. We have family and friends in cryo, and more than a few people owe Ryder a favor or two for getting rid of Sloane and setting up the outpost. And plenty of us wouldn't even go back under Nexus control if Tann paid us from his own pocket. We were fucked over once, we're not gonna trust them again.”

“And Reyes won’t take these odds,” Kian talked over Avitus before the turian could protest. “He’s got a better chance of getting what he wants if he and Ryder stay partners. He’s not gonna hand her and her brother over to desperate Outcasts who could fuck it up, or draw Nexus attention like this if he can help it.”

Avitus huffed unhappily when Kian stopped talking. The two Pathfinders were both considering Kian's rebuke in silence, leaving Vetra grinding her teeth at the end of the couch. Cora floundered in her own frustration and pricking shame, trying not to think about how things would have been different if Jien Garson had lived, or if the Nexus heads hadn't crushed their own citizens, or if one of the arks had arrived sooner and offered a fraction of the hope and opportunity the Initiative had promised. 

“Sorry, Pathfinder,” Kian actually sounded sorry, though he looked at Vetra and Cora instead of Avitus. “Reyes might lie more often than he breathes, and I won’t say most of my clients are innocent lambs, but you won’t find Ryder and Scott like this.”

Kian pulled his mouth sideways at Vetra. Vetra clicked her mandibles, pushed herself up from the couch and stalked to leet Kian at his post. Cora tried not to be spitefully glad when Kian's shrank a fraction in the face of Vetra's injured and angered expression. 

“If that’s all you have, we should be going,” Raeka declared, motioning Avitus before her to the door. 

“I’ll keep a lookout,” Kian promised. “Tell Reyes if I get anything.”

“Us,” Vetra bargained with an edge. “You can just tell _us_ too.”

“Yeah,” Kian agreed. “That I can do.”

Kian nodded to emphasize the deal. Cora didn’t fully believe that he would abide by it, but Vetra seemed partially mollified. 

“Be careful who you talk to out there,” Kian advised, turning to speak to Avitus and Raeka clearly. “ _Most_ of us don’t want to mess with the Nexus, but if people think the Nexus is fucking with _us_ , you’re gonna have more problems than the Outcasts.”

“We’ll consider that,” Avitus informed coldly.

“Thank you for talking with us,” Raeka added simply.

Kian shrugged and unlocked the door. Avitus scrutinized the bartender wrathfully a final time before he let Raeka lightly push him out the door. Cora gladly went to follow them, eager to get out of the abandoned room and away from Kian’s defensive lecture to Avitus. Vetra hesitated where she was, looking Kian up and down uncertainly.

“Ryder tips well,” Kian reminded Vetra. “I’ll keep an ear out, too.”

“…Thanks,” Vetra sighed and freed Kian from his corner.“We need anything solid to go on.”

“Watch where you parade those two around,” Kian advised more sympathetically. "It'll put people off even they  _do_ know something."

“Yeah…I know,” Vetra confirmed just loudly enough for Cora to hear. 

Kian nodded again and ushered the two women out of the room before locking it firmly. He was gone before Cora could think of any questions of her own. Avitus and Raeka were talking softly amongst themselves, but neither paid Kian a glance when he brushed by to descend the stairs. Vetra grumbled to herself.

“Do you think he’s lying?” Cora asked.

“I don’t. But I don’t like having to wonder,” Vetra admitted as she looked down on the lower floor. Rattling her knuckles, Vetra mumbled, “The stuff he said about the Nexus…it’s not _wrong_ , but that doesn’t make it right. Exiles aren’t all malicious, most of them got in over their heads and had nowhere to turn back once they did. I doubt most of them would stoop this low. But there’re more than enough that _would_ try a tactic like this.”

“But…you _don’t_ think he’s lying?” Cora reiterated nervously.

“I don’t,” Vetra shook her head. “Kian doesn’t like dealing with big stakes. He’ll lie for Reyes, but he’s doing well here because he keeps his head down. And if Reyes did it…I think he’d do it _better_. Not have Ryder and Scott picked up right on his doorstep, and leave them with Outcasts he can’t directly supervise. And, even if we find them, there’s a real chance the Nexus could cut ties again. I don’t think even Reyes would gamble like that when he has something tangible to lose.”

Vetra lowered her head in exhaustion, hunching at the waist until she was almost to Cora’s height. The turian clacked her teeth softly, observing the crowds she and Drack typically navigated with ease. Avitus was still speaking to Raeka, his voice just audible and full of dissatisfied angles. Vetra looked sideways with Cora and shook her head.

“He’s even tenser than usual,” Cora agreed. “But you can’t really blame him.”

“No,” Vetra agreed. “But things are off without Ryder here. The other Pathfinders usually follow her lead on things like this, and now…no one’s sure who should take charge.”

Cora tried not to take the obvious as an insult. She couldn’t deny the relief she felt to have someone else being decisive when everything felt so uncertain. In spite of all her training and preparation under Alec, maybe because she had filled the role for so long, Cora was better at enacting orders than issuing them. Trying to take charge over Avitus or even the Tempest felt improper and unnatural.

“Avitus’ has probably dealt with this type of thing more than Raeka or us, officially,” Vetra was saying. “But Kadara has its own rules. And that’s without the angaran influence here. Ordering them to cooperate presses all of the wrong buttons.”

“It’s an entire planet Initiative people who the Initiative can’t control,” Cora agreed. “They’ve already gotten a life sentence here and deal with death every day, we don’t have much leverage.”

“Exactly,” Vetra muttered thoughtfully. “That’s what happens when you make people this desperate.”

Vetra straightened suddenly, turning to Cora. A flicker of guilt joined Vetra’s pensive anxiety.

“Are you ok?” Vetra asked carefully. “Not, ok, but…hearing it from them is hard.”

Cora didn't want to answer that. Of course it was hard. But focussing on the sense of defeat kept Cora from thinking of solutions, and moving forward was more important than trying to contradict bad truths. 

“Yes, it is. But I knew it would be,” Cora swallowed back another surge of anxiety. “Avitus and Raeka are trying, its nice having someone else asking the questions.”

Vetra reached out and jostled Cora’s shoulders gently. The silent bracing was the most comforting gesture Cora had received since the twins had disappeared. Vetra squeezed Cora’s shoulder shortly. Cora walked level with Vetra to rejoined Avitus and Raeka, glad to see that Abitus seemed to have simmered down into suppressed resentment while Raeka remained composed for both of them.

“Let’s find Liam and Jaal and get back to the settlement,” Vetra suggested lightly.

“Should we check with the dock hands?” Avitus asked.

“Liam did that, we already got the names and shuttle information we need if the Outcasts come back,” Cora shook her head. “We can go over that at the settlement and be ready for when Reyes appears.”

Avitus tilted his head back and forth in consideration.Cora might have seen that Raeka’s hand swing into his arm an instant before Avitus’ grunted resignedly, but with the dim lighting, she couldn’t be sure. Avitus led the way through the bar, casting a final look at Sejanus back in his cage and Kian safely behind the bar, neither of which was acknowledged. 

“Are you alright?” Raeka asked in Cora’s ear, jerking upright when Cora looked over her shoulder. 

“Yes. Of course,” Cora assured.

Raeka blinked at her slowly. Cora stepped away as Raeka reached for her, stopping short when Raeka lightly steered her to avoid backing into a krogan before retracting her fingers quickly. Avitus nodded in agreement, approaching apologetic just enough for Cora to notice.

“Thank you, for bringing us here,” Raeka passed a sweeping glance over the club from the door before it closed behind them. “It was not what we expected.”

Vetra’s foot caught on a stone and Avitus cleared his throat when Raeka’s comment resounded in the quiet air outside the humming bar. Cora picked her way out of the slums, glad that the groups in the street had cleared even while she felt exiles watching from the walkways above.

“It never is,” Cora admitted.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance: I know that "The Turian" and "The Smaller Turian" is an annoying distinction. Realistically, the Outcasts have no reason to reveal anything about their identities, and the Ryders have bigger concerns than coming up with nicknames. But I'll try to have them come up with one, for narrative clarity.

 

The terror The Turian had dragged out of Ryder dulled into a sense of shame the longer Scott tried to comfort her and her shock faded. She had automatically obeyed The Turian’s orders in the hope he would be appeased. It had been a child’s response, instinctual and useless. Destructive, Ryder heard Cole resume groaning and Scott mumble to himself next to her. Ryder didn’t have the time or resources to freeze or cower. She could only devote energy to constructive efforts. 

No one came with food or water. The cells stank from the abandoned blood and the putrefying waste buckets. The other cell was quiet: Cole had either fallen sleep or passed out from the strain, Tejna remained in her customary heap, and Egeria kept a silent vigil over the pair from her own corner. Scott was quiet, but he kept shifting and squirming in his hunker. 

“Are you ok?” Ryder felt Scott turn over restlessly and snuffle to himself.“Do you need…need me to watch the wall so you can…?”

“No,” Scott’s unamused laugh burst out of him shortly. "Thanks.”

Scott grunted and turned back to face Ryder with his eyes shut. Swallowing coarsely and kicking the jacket off of himself, Scott squeezed his eyes shut until Ryder could see the grooves at the corners.

“Headache?” Jaime guessed, dropping her voice.

“Mm,” Scott confirmed curtly.

“Bad one?”

“Not a great one,” Scott joked through a tight jaw. “It’s just dehydration, y’know.”

Ryder mumbled sympathetically.The price of biotics varied between individuals and decreased with each generation of implants, but most biotics Ryder knew still had ravenous appetites and a vulnerability to headaches that ranged from nagging to crippling. After too much alcohol and too little water, Ryder's body was feeling the strain too. 

“Prickly sharp one, or thumpy deep one?” Ryder asked. “Or one of the _itchy_ ones?”

Scott managed a small smile at the distinctions. It had been a combination of commiseration and competition during biotic training to compare the wide array of aches and pains at the end of a rough day, always accompanied by horror stories of the L-2 generation. It had been a grim mark of pride among the students to find a new type of pain. Even fully trained biotics risked a rogue migraine if they got complacent. 

“Deep one,” Scott mumbled. “Like my head is a gong and someone is hitting it. With a sledgehammer. I’ve had worse, it’s just…I haven’t gotten one in awhile, I feel like a rookie.”

The difference between “mildly agonizing” and “ _most_ agonizing” was a slim comfort. Ryder marveled at her uselessness as Scott licked along his dry lips and pressed his temple against the cool damp wall. Ryder searched the cell for anything she had missed, left with herself and the dwindling jacket for resources. And the bucket. Ryder shook herself, willing something comforting to appear. Leaning back against to the cold wall, Ryder grasped at an idea as her hands went numb.

Scott jerked in surprise when Ryder lay her cool hand against his exposed temple. Ryder could already feel her hand heating up against his skin. It was a poor comfort, a basic imitation of a foggy memory of Mom testing their foreheads during a shared flu. Scott frowned to himself softly while his tense muscles relaxed a fraction. 

“It has been 600 years since you really used your biotics,” Ryder reminded softly, keeping her voice down an octave. 

“I guess,” Scott stopped wiggling. “But I haven’t gotten a migraine over one ‘Lift’ since I was 12.”

Scott sounded self-deprecating, but Ryder flinched.Scott also hadn’t ever been drunk, beaten, and kidnapped when they were twelve. The worst they had had to worry about back then was Mom’s long examinations on their implants or Dad barking at them to stop levitating things in the house. Well, that and unintentionally flinging the furniture. 

Switching hands, Ryder almost laughed as she asked, “Hey, you remember, one of the first flare-ups I had, at, I dunno, 2 in the morning? It was like a week after we started Lifting stuff?”

“You threw a salarian cell model into the wall we shared, I nearly peed myself,” Scott groused. “Yeah, I remember.”

“That one,” Ryder’s giggled. “Mom was away at a conference, and Dad was sleeping in their room at the other end of the house.”

Scott exhaled in the imitation of a laugh.

“I came over, and you were sitting in the middle of your bed, still half-asleep, with everything in your room on the floor,” Scott continued. “You looked **_so_** confused. Like you were trying to figure out who had wrecked your stuff.”

“I thought it was you,” Jaime pretended to accuse while she switched hands. Working the feeling back into her fingers, she amended, “But that didn’t make sense either. Then I figured it out.”

“What a scientist,” Scott’s mouth jerked up at one corner.

“You started laughing, you jerk,” Jaime smoothed Scott’s hair away from his forehead. “But then you helped me pick up my stuff, and we put up a poster over the dent so we didn’t have to tell Dad.”

“Then we stuffed our faces on leftover pizza until your stomach stopped growling, and Dad got mad at us anyway,” Scott finished. “I _knew_ you owed me for something.”

“Psshhh, I settled that, like, three days later when you Charged into a bookshelf and I caught it from crushing you,” Jaime teased. “Show off.”

Scott smiled shortly and sighed, the furrows reappearing around his eyes. Their parents had found out about that too, but Mom had convinced Dad that cleaning up the books was punishment enough. It didn't matter that the twins usually got caught. They had covered up the evidence of each other’s mishaps long before their biotics manifested and up until they joined separate Alliance units. Ryder had lost count of who had saved the other most, or who had done it last. It was simply a reflex she had always had. Deep down, past the playful annoyance and occasional serious quarrel the twins shared, Ryder hoped she never lost it. 

_I’m gonna get water somewhere,_ Ryder promised Scott to herself. _And food, and heat, and this stupid cell open._

Ryder chanted this promise to herself with little variation, switching hands and clamping the free hand between her knees to warm it when they started going numb. Scott quieted within the hour, contained to a shudder or miserable grumble. Once, Ryder saw Egeria stroll past the bars and steal a look at Scott over her shoulder on her way to scold Cole. That was the sum total of their interaction with the other cell as the hours passed.

At the seventh hour, the door opened. Ryder felt the atmosphere compress into a suffocating pressure without having to see The Turian first. Scott scooted over into the shadows as the lights snapped on with a sizzling brightness. Egeria hissed once at Tejna, taking her position by Cole by the time The Turian appeared. The asari was replaced with a salarian on one side and a shorter turian on the other. All of them were armored and empty-handed.

The Turian stopped at the Collective cell and peered skeptically at Tejna. Motioning to his attendants to ready their weapons, The Turian opened the cell and stalked to Tejna in three short strides.

“Has she moved at all since before?” the Turian asked Egeria while ignoring Cole. “Before” was the only interval of time the Turian seemed inclined to give them.

“She got up to stretch,” Egeria lied ferociously. “But she needs sun.”

“We’d all like some sun,” the Turian retorted lazily. Nudging Tejna with his foot curiously, the Turian observed the sluggish roll away. “Get her up.”

“I can’t,” Egeria informed. “She at least needs warmth.”

“Get her up,” The Turian commanded simply, turning to Egeria with his chest thrust forward.

“I can’t,” Egeria repeated. 

The Turian reached for Egeria as casually as he had reached for Ryder. Egeria jerked her arm away, painstakingly stepping over Cole to keep her balance. The Turian snatched a second time, yanking Egeria to him in a violent swing. 

Scott groaned and Jaime shrank as The Turian’s helm rammed into Egeria’s face. Intentional or opportunistic, Egeria’s neck shot forward to meet the strike squarely with her forehead. The Turian rocked back on his heels from the force while Egeria hit the floor with an equally harsh crash and Cole frantically crawled out of the way. Once down, Egeria stayed prone at the end of the henchmen’s guns. Blood seeped from the branching gashes in her carapace, but she barely blinked the trickles out of her eyes as she waited. 

The Turian shook his head under a helm with fresh scratches from Egeria’s blow. Rolling his neck gingerly and seeming oblivious to the damage, The Turian pushed the guns down to stand over Egeria. The female turian looked up at him, poised on her arms to spring up or back. Ryder wasn’t sure which would be worse for her. Egeria’s green paint flashed in the light as she stared up at The Turian, bright even under grime and wear. Next to Cole curling his legs to shield his hand, Egeria looked defiantly re-energized by The Turian’s attack. 

“You have until we’re back to get her _up_ ,” The Turian threatened. A medigel pack dropped to the floor in front of Egeria’s bloodstained face.

That definitively ended the scuffle. Egeria picked herself up on steady legs and took the medigel with her. Her head ducked down, sprinkling the floor with drops of blood, but she neglected even a passing look at The Turian for permission as she went to Tejna and prodded the angara.

Still invigorated by his momentary brutality, The Turian slammed the cell door behind him and stormed into the Ryders' cell. The smaller turian jerked his head nervously, tightening his grip on his gun behind The Turian’s towering form.

“You’re coming with us,” The Turian informed, barely containing his outburst under a demanding order. “Both of you.”

Ryder watched herself automatically obey before the salarian had finished grabbing her. She helped Scott to his feet in the same motion, standing dumbly while the Smaller Turian came to guard Scott’s other side. Scott squinted in the light miserably and barely shuffled when the Smaller Turian shouldered him forward.

“We need water,” the request had turned into a plea somewhere between Ryder's brain and her mouth. “We’re dehydrated-“

“You can have water when we’re done,” The Turian informed.

“Please,” Ryder added, forced to walk with Scott behind her when the salarian shoved her ahead. “Our biotics are-“

“After.”

“After what?” Scott gasped, stumbling to keep ahead of Smaller Turian. 

“After what?” Ryder annunciated loudly.

The Turian didn’t answer, and Ryder’s world went dark as the only response. Scott yelped behind her, something skittered across the ground. Slender hands gripped Ryder’s upper arms and steered her to the right. Ryder walked forward blindly, letting the salarian catch her from stumbling over the door frame and then a rock in her shin. 

“Scott?” Ryder called frantically.

“Yeah,” Scott’s muffled voice was just behind her.

“Satisfied?” the salarian simpered and pushed Ryder forward sharply.

_SAM?_ Ryder asked hopefully. _Can you scan?_

_I cannot, Pathfinder_ , SAM gently killed Ryder’s hopes.

Outcasts were smarter than Ryder wanted to admit. No scanner, no weapons, and no way to see. This was somehow worse than the cells. Panic twisted around Ryder’s throat, crushing out the air and filling her ears with a heavy heartbeat. 

No, this was not the time to panic. Snatching a breath, Ryder held it, letting the salarian navigate while she thought. The Outcasts had gone old school with covering their heads, like something from Liam’s action vids. The ground was uneven and it was still cool, but the air tasted fresher past the stuffiness in the bag. They were still underground, but in some expanse beyond the compression of the enclosed cells. Past the rustling over her ears, Ryder thought she heard overlapping voices, quiet without the hiss of whispers or mumbles. Distant voices, calling to each other like guards in the Collective base. This wasn’t just The Turian and some buddies, the Outcasts had numbers. Numbers and a concealed space to hold them. Ryder wondered how Reyes would take the Outcasts stealing his ideas.

The salarian’s fingers tightened around Ryder’s arms, tugging her sideways and guiding her up a series of steps. A door hissed at the top, smooth and quiet after the beaten rattle of the door to the cells. Ryder shouted when the salarian yanked the bag off, taking a handful of her hair with it. Ryder was greeted by a bare room with unassuming tables and accompanying chairs placed perfectly straight.

Scott stumbled into place beside Ryder, only staying upright with the “help” of Small Turian’s claw in the back of his shirt. The Turian jerked one of the seats out and held it ready for Ryder to be dumped into. Smaller Turian—really average size, still a head taller than Scott, Ryder noticed grimly— dropped Scott in a seat across from her and pushed the chair into trap Scott’s legs under the desk. Scott sank down into the seat gratefully, retching in a closed mouth when Smaller Turian wasn’t looking.

“Can we have water now?” Ryder asked, turning in her seat to keep her eye on The Turian.

“After,” The Turian reiterated. 

“After _what_?” 

“Our demands.”

So it was ransom, at least as a compromise with the Charlatan out of reach. Ryder didn’t know for what, but that was secondary. Scott caught her eye over the desk, looking almost relieved. Ryder felt something like relief under fresh questions. Ransom meant they weren’t disposable. It meant she was still useful, if Ryder had to pick a silver lining.

“Demands,” Ryder repeated, making a point to stay in the center of her chair compliantly. “What demands? I can’t make the Initiative give you the Charlatan either.” She could try, but that would probably end in at least one dead body that wasn’t Reyes’ and only might end with Reyes being captured.

“We’ll work around that,” The Turian promised. Sitting on the corner of the desk beside Ryder, The Turian rubbed the seal around his helmet with a muffled groan.

Ryder owed Egeria rations and the rest of the jacket for that head-butt.

“They’re simple,” The Turian continued after his brief self-pity.“Obviously, we want the citizens of Kadara to be free to go to Meridian.”

“There’s already a selection process,” Ryder reminded.

“And the citizens on Kadara have seniority over the other colonies’ personnel,” The Turian retorted sweetly. “We were awake and working months before most of the specialists you’re using now.”

“Second, we want the Initiative to wave the background checks,” The Turian continued confidently. “No one on Kadara will pass them, obviously. That’s a loophole that Tann and Addison’ll love even if we’re technically allowed to apply.”

“But-“

“‘But we can’t have _exiles_ in our paradise, for the safety of our community,’” The Turian talked through his nose in an unpleasantly accurate imitation of Tann. “We’re not asking to be exempt from laws once we’re there. We’ll be subject to the same penalties criminals are. But we won’t be punished for being trapped on Kadara.”

Ryder hated to see The Turian’s point past the evasion. There were exiles on Kadara too dangerous to allow back into the Initiative community, who had taken Kadara as an excuse and now reveled in the brutality. But Tann, even Addison, Kesh, and Kandros, would be hard-pressed to distinguish those actions from the defensive violence needed to survive on Kadara. If they were willing to put in the effort to distinguish between exiles at all. For Sloane’s remaining troops, Ryder seriously doubted a fair deliberation was possible. 

“They won’t agree to that,” Ryder warned. “Maybe…maybe on _recommendation_ , but that would still need verification, and that would take months.“

“We’ll see if they have a suitable counter offer. I’m assuming they won’t,” The Turian assured calmly. “But Tann should know the exiles never intended to harm our own people. Things got out of hand in the uprising, that doesn’t make us animals.”

“The entire station could have died without Hydroponics,” Ryder replied. “Even if it was an _accident_ , it could have killed…thousands. The rebels _did_ kill people.”

“And the politicians could have killed just as many by putting us back in cryo,” The Turian retorted gravely. “We wouldn’t wait for them to let the Nexus die slowly while we slept instead of doing our jobs. Sometimes violence is necessary. They should understand that after using the krogan against us. ”

Ryder sat poised for more justifications, but The Turian seemed satisfied with that explanation. Bloodshed to prevent a hypothetical gradual suffocation was an acceptable price to him and most other exiles, and Sloane and her followers rarely seemed to waste time lamenting the decision.

“Finally,” The Turian continued. “We want a council established to replace the Charlatan’s government. The council would be comprised of Kadaran citizens, and negotiate with the outpost and the Nexus in the Charlatan’s place.”

Ryder faltered uneasily. If not for the circumstances, this was a more realistic request. Ryder had fought for emigration but had unhappily expected an initial refusal. There was still a river of bad blood between the Nexus and the exiles. But a council on Kadara could serve the Initiative without blatantly repealing the exiles’ punishment. For the Outcasts, it would pry Reyes’ ill-gotten kingdom away without a war.

“With that…you’re not asking for the Charlatan?” Ryder asked. Reyes might begrudgingly settle for a bargain that let him fight another day.

“The transition would be simpler if the Charlatan was eliminated,” The Turian sounded disappointed. “But plans have to be flexible: if we can’t verify who the Charlatan is, we can still remove them from power. And, if the Charlatan doesn’t want to cooperate…I trust that a Pathfinder is more important to the Initiative than an exile despot.”

So regardless of Ryder’s choice, Reyes had to either let himself be overthrown and give up his power quietly, or the Initiative would eliminate him for The Turian. It sounded more reasonable than demanding the Charlatan outright and didn’t require knowing the Charlatan’s identity specifically. If the Turian got lucky, Ryder would deliver Reyes and political triumph to him as neatly as she had delivered Sloane to the Charlatan in the first place. Ryder wanted to puke.

“If you wanted a council, why didn’t you establish one under Sloane?” Ryder accused to stall.

Scott scooted uncertainly back in his seat. Unease had brought an indignant color back in his pained face. Every question delayed the promise of water, and threatened to diminish The Turian’s mercy.

Still, Ryder had to ask. Sloane had been the opposite of a democratic assembly. Somewhere along the way, Sloane had succeeded in appointing herself the singular leader over a sizable population that had only recently demanded representation. Reyes had taken up the mantle and added Keema as a middleman, but now the Outcasts were trying to claim a moral high ground from a shared moral ditch. 

Tapping the desk and grunting to himself, The Turian seemed to seriously be mulling over Ryder’s question.  Chuckling bitterly, The Turian admitted, “When we got here, we were too concerned with fighting the kett and establishing ourselves to worry about administration. Sloane naturally assumed command. Once the kett were gone, she had enough support to keep it.”

Ryder kept her jaw clenched when the Turian looked at her pointedly. Ryder had no doubt that Sloane had been instrumental in the exiles’ initial survival. That didn’t explain why she had been allowed to become a tyrant over the people she had been meant to protect. Shrugging indifferently at Ryder’s silence, the Turian continued, “But it’s time to let Kadara move forward.

“Your alliance with the Charlatan gives them power, and the Initiative is letting it stay that way because the Charlatan keeps Kadara quiet. But the Charlatan’s still a self-serving gang lord, and the port suffers for it. The best supplies go to the Collective, any opposition to the Charlatan’s ambition is eliminated, and the citizens have no say in the laws over them. With a council backed by the Initiative, the Charlatan’s hold weakens and the people get a chance to develop Kadara in a way that benefits _them._ ”

Through The Turian’s neat reasoning, Ryder felt a fresh surge of anger. The Turian’s even tone of superiority echoed the former bravado of Outcast guards when they were stomping over the people who couldn’t pay for safety. It sounded like Sloane, sneering over Tann turning on his own while she beat her subjects and fed them Oblivion. It sounded like Reyes, earnestly advising Ryder against Sloane’s cruelty and pontificating on Kadara’s safety while Kaetus was beaten in the streets and Sloane got a bullet to the back. The hypocrisy barely mattered to any of them. It was all the right words, maybe some good intentions, ultimately camouflaging another of Kadara’s grudge matches that Ryder was tired of being thrust into.

“None of that was a problem when the Outcasts were the ones holding the guns and getting the supplies,” Ryder surprised herself with her soft venom. “Then it was fine to beat and banish people if they didn’t obey Sloane and pay her blood tax.”

Scott sank down in his seat sharply as The Turian sprang up and seized Ryder’s shirt. Ryder arched back in her seat as the Turian’s knuckles ground against her sternum to pin her in place. The salarian moved in on Scott, jerking him upright by the neck. The Smaller Turian stepped forward and back indecisively, shuffling sullenly with no one to intimidate for himself. 

Leaning down to consider Ryder so she could see his eyes through the helmet’s tint, The Turian’s scowl nearly choked Ryder on its own. Whatever else Sloane Kelly had been, she had been a leader that commanded deference even Ryder had respected, and a loyalty which had withstood exile, kett, her own demise, and even the Collective’s purge.

“Things weren’t perfect under Sloane,” The Turian admitted with a forbidding rumble if Ryder thought to agree. “But she stood with us, and we _chose_ to follow her. We owed her our lives. She was a hard ass, she was a piece of work, she was damned near mad, but she controlled Kadara when no one else could. She didn’t need to deceive us, we knew what she would do for us _._ But now she’s **_dead_** because _you_ led her to the Charlatan.”

_Sloane was happy to lie about the kett_ , Ryder didn’t have the courage to challenge The Turian’s accusation with such a weak justification.

“So, you would rather have the Initiative back on Kadara than the Charlatan?” Ryder asked. 

“The Initiative already _is_ on Kadara, you saw to that too,” The Turian replied instantly. “This way, at least they get rid of the Charlatan for us.”

Even as Ryder despised The Turian, she knew he had a grain of a point. Neither Sloane or Reyes’ kingdoms could last forever if Kadara wanted to be anything more than a battleground. The people on Kadara deserved their own voice, unfettered by a dictator’s person vendettas. Inevitably, Kadara would have to accept that having a voice in Heleus meant rejoining the Initiative. That was the eventuality Ryder had always been working for, even if it was a deluded Sloane sycophant demanding them now.

“But,” Scott cut into Ryder’s uneasy pondering and tightening The Turian’s iron hold. “If you’re leaving, why try to control the government here?”

“It’s also a backup plan,” Ryder understood before The Turian had to answer. “Even if emigration is dropped, the Charlatan will be gone.”

The Turian nodded, slackening his grip on Ryder just enough for her to notice. It was rough negotiation tactic Ryder easily recognized. Ideally, the Nexus would acquiesce to every request for the Ryders, but The Turian was preparing for necessary shifts. If the Initiative insisted on enabling Reyes, the Outcasts would demand a place to escape; if the Outcasts couldn’t have Meridian, they would carve out a place in a reformed Kadara. Instinct told Ryder the council would be the first term dropped in a compromise, but it was a lofty goal.

“So you want me to propose the deal: your terms in exchange for us,” Ryder clarified.

“Exactly,” The Turian practically praised. “The presentation is simple: you and your brother are safe and unharmed, and will be returned that way, if the Initiative cooperates. Once we get our demands, you’re free to leave.”

_Safe?_ _Unharmed_? Scott audibly ground his teeth and Ryder nearly burst out laughing in fresh contempt. She and Scott were alive and likely to remain that way, but the Turian’s brain was truly ravaged if he believed they were safe and he was harmless.

“What about the others, in the cells?” Ryder asked. “What happens to them?”

“I’m not setting up a deal for them,” The Turian shook his head.

“And I’m not just going to let you-“

Ryder realized her mistake when the Turian’s knuckles drilled dents into her chest.Ryder’s rush of defiance ebbed into a weak twinge as forceful bolts of pain replaced the ache of The Turian’s passive restraint. The Turian steadily forced the air out of Ryder’s chest under his fist until her gasp turned into a muted squeak.

“I’m not looking for your approval, Pathfinder. I’m not negotiating with _you_. I’m telling you what you _will_ say,” The Turian adopted a reassuring inflection. “But if you want to argue with me, I can make things simpler and just have the Collective dogs removed as a factor _now_.”

“That isn’t-“

“Do I need to do that? Or will you _cooperate_?” the Turian’s question shook Ryder’s body through his fist. 

The Smaller Turian glanced at the salarian uncertainly, while the salarian looked on with interest and forced Scott’s head forward to watch. The Turian’s armor crunched against Ryder’s breastbone as she fought for a full breath. Ryder reached to clasp The Turian’s wrist. With deliberate delicacy, the Turian picked Ryder’s finger’s off one by one, his eyes never leaving her face.

_Deep breaths_ , Alec Ryder looked down at his daughter disapprovingly.

_Pathfinder, you are exhibiting a dangerous increase in heart…_ SAM’s voice informed somewhere in the back of Ryder’s mind. Across the desks, Scott jerked his head away from the salarian’s grip until the salarian squeezed his throat.

_I can’t_ , Ryder chastised herself of falling into the useless cycle. _Not now, not_ ** _now_** _._

_Deep breaths_ , Alec Ryder ordered again, forcing Ryder’s chest against The Turian’s fist until something creaked. Ryder nodded to her father, trying her best to obey while The Turian’s fist barely moved. 

Ryder’s chest rattled as soon as The Turian released her, taking his seat on the desk while Ryder nearly tipped backwards in her haste to get away. The Turian’s hand lashed out to catch her, pulling her back to the desk and keeping her upright as she wheezed for air.

“Are you ready to get started?” The Turian asked critically.

With her chest stinging and the seam of her shirt cutting into her neck, Ryder allowed herself the luxury of imagining herself violently throwing The Turian into the wall and hearing the armor break before his lackeys could move. If she had been alone, it might have been worth it. Instead, she jerked her shirt out of The Turian’s fist and nodded.

“Good,” The Turian let Ryder sit, turning to his omnitool. “Then we can-“

“But I want water first,” Ryder’s fury bubbled over.

Ryder pushed the chair out of reach when The Turian jerked his head up in surprise. Forcing her chest to rise and fall evenly through painful welts, Ryder repeated coolly, “I want water for both of us first, and then I’ll memorize whatever you want me to pitch.”

“You can have water after you do what we need,” The Turian reiterated.

“If I’m going to sound ‘unharmed,’ I want water,” Ryder retorted, rubbing her throat and picking at the cracked skin at the corner of her mouth. “And food.”

“You’ll get both, once we do this,” The Turian sounded as if he was chuckling. “Think of it as an incentive.”

“I think of it as a fucking necessity,” Ryder did her best to spit back. 

Ryder scraped the chair back another foot when The Turian rose. He stalked toward her, forbiddingly straight and silent. Let him bluster, Ryder decided. Until this was done, until Ryder appeared “unharmed” and advocated their position, they had some leverage. With luck, they had an indefinite blockade against dismemberment or real beatings, in the event the Initiative asked for periodic proof. 

Ryder forced herself to believe that as The Turian followed, footstep by chair scrape, until the back of the chair hit the wall and The Turian’s shin hit the edge of the chair’s seat. One of the bluffs had to be called, and Ryder wasn’t budging. Ryder braced herself as The Turian reached for her, gulping in a deep breath in preparation for the crushing fist.

“Sir?”

Both Ryder and The Turian whipped to look at the Smaller Turian for shakily interrupting them. Even the salarian looked confused, tightening his fingers around Scott’s neck and mumbling something the Smaller Turian disapprovingly. The Smaller Turian’s helmet dipped and raised in a respectful nod to be safe. 

“Um, sir,” The Smaller Turian repeated slowly. “They…they look thirsty, sir.”

The Smaller Turian scuffed his foot against the floor and pointed to Scott’s pale skin and crusted lips in explanation. The Turian followed the line from the finger skeptically, turning over his shoulder to inspect Ryder. Ryder let herself wheeze softly as she exhaled, poking out her lip to emphasize the cracks at the corners. She sensed The Turian noticed, clearly unimpressed and looking between the twins as if to verify it wasn’t a passing trick.

“Fine. You can have water now,” The Turian declared magnanimously, adding to the other Outcasts officially, “Give them water.”

The Smaller Turian nodded frantically, pawing at the packs on his belt until he dug out a small flask on his way to Ryder. The salarian reluctantly followed suit, prying a flask free and lazily popping it open under Scott’s nose.

The Smaller Turian looked uncertain, thrusting the flask to Ryder at arm’s length like someone feeding a varren. It was trivial to Ryder that it was a mockery of decency when the lukewarm water hit her lips.Across the room, Scott held each sip in his mouth before swallowing, wiping his damp hand across his neck and face with a soft groan. Scott possessively clenched the flask when the salarian feigned a reach. The flasks were hardly a windfall, but the few mouthfuls provided an instant sense of relief.

Ryder felt the turians staring as she drained the flask in five unbroken gulps. The Smaller Turian tipped his head to follow a dribble crawl from the corner of Ryder's mouth until dropped off her chin. Whether the Smaller Turian offered the water out of caution or sympathy, Ryder felt like an exhibit or amusement to him. The fallen Pathfinder, a pitiable fool or a valued lapdog—Ryder could hear Sloane snickering at her—probably both, a bounty and an oddity in one. But she couldn’t let that matter. Their survival was the priority, and her dignity would have to heal if it got the chance. Ryder unabashedly licked streaks of water from the mouth of the flask to catch the last dregs while the Smaller Turian gawked.

“Finished,” The Turian took the flask and shook it by his ear as proof before tossing it to the Smaller Turian. Inspecting Ryder in her cornered chair, The Turian decided, “This is as good as any backdrop. Ok, Pathfinder Ryder, let’s make this good.”

Ryder heard The Turian’s smirk through the helmet. Ryder checked on Scott, comforting herself that Scott was alert and his posture uncurled and comfortably loose. Scott tipped back in his seat to catch the last drops of his water before primly handing the flask to the salarian and nodding to Jaime.

She could do this. Realistically, it was her job. She was trained for negotiations and sensitive diplomatic missions. Not that this was _diplomatic_ , but the principle goal was the same: reaching a palatable compromise for both parties to avoid destruction. The destruction of what she had fought for in Heleus. She almost preferred getting to cuss out the Archon.

“Who…who’s going to see this? I mean, who is this for?” Ryder asked as The Turian leveled his omnitool. 

Target audience mattered: Tann and Addison responded best to numbers, Kesh to supply security and consideration of the krogan, and Kandros to tactical advantage. Raeka had already been receptive to reconciliation, that would be easiest. Avitus and Sarissa wouldn’t respond well to this type of intimidation, but they would be more likely to consider the terms if Ryder sounded certain. Reyes would never freely agree, but Evfra and the others would have to deal with him now and Ryder would deal with him later.

“The Nexus administrators. The Pathfinders. Probably some subordinate staff will see it, behind closed doors. Perhaps the Charlatan themselves,” The Turian chuckled. “I assume your crew also, at least Lieutenant Harper.”

Scott’s eyes lit up and instantly darkened at the mention of Cora. Ryder hated that she kept being impressed by The Turian. He was taking the discussion out of Tann’s hands with mass exposure. It was smart; anyone would be more inclined to listen than Tann. And at least now the Tempest would know…

_Oh, fuck,_ Ryder’s newly quenched stomach sloshed. _Jaal is going to see this._

Ryder could see her crew, gathered around a console in their respective places for a mission update, Gil and Suvi filling in the vacant spots while Kallo listened in from the bridge. It would hardly be the worst thing they had seen, Ryder wasn’t that egotistical. But it would be Scott as a personal friend, and _her_ , projected over her ship and in need of saving. Because she had been a _fool_. Jaal would watch with the rest of the crew, sinking into a dreading silence as his worse expectations were validated. 

_If I had just stayed on the Tempest,_ Ryder thought back to her cabin as she had pestered Jaal to come out, only to leave him with a playful pout and kiss. 

Ryder realized she was smoothing her clothes and rolling up her sleeves to hide the ripped seam, unconsciously putting herself together to look presentable. Why? To sell the terms and please The Turian was the obvious justification. To spare her crew some anguish was partially true. It was all the reassurance for them she had, that she and Scott were holding together and waiting for backup. 

The larger, disappointing, reality was she was doing it because her shame had redoubled. As hard as Ryder tried to deny it, she felt sick at the idea of being seen, beaten and wretched, by the people she loved, the people she was sworn to protect and lead, and the people who had believed in her. It was a pathetically overwhelming reaction Ryder didn’t have the energy to resist when she could blame it on The Turian.

Ryder checked under her nose for blood and vigorously rubbed away the worst of Cole’s blood splatter on her hands. Looking down at her mud stained shirt with flecks of blood intermixed, Ryder steeled herself and pulled it off to sit in her less scathed tank top. The Turian didn’t interfere when she tossed the over-shirt to Scott, or when the salarian forced Scott to crumple it out of sight under the desk. Ryder quickly regretted the decision as the cool air bit into her exposed skin and raised the hairs on her arms and neck while The Turian looked on. 

“Are you going to shiver, like that?” The Turian asked from behind his omnitool.

“No. Not if we’re quick,” Ryder rubbed her hands up and down her arms to banish possible goosebumps. 

Ryder almost gaped in disbelief when the Turian pointed down and mimed pulling up her shirt. The Turian tugged up his chest again, jutting his head forward expectantly when Ryder crossed her arms. Ryder would look neat and professional; she wasn't _primping_ for this. Tipping his head back in a show of victimized exasperation, The Turian moved to approach.

“Jaime,” Scott interjected loudly and tapped his own chest. “You can see the…some marks.”

Ryder looked down to see the reddened spots from The Turian’s knuckles peeking above the line of her shirt. The Turian cleared his throat severely, prompting Ryder with another jerk in front of his chest.

_Unharmed, huh_ , Ryder rubbed another layer of goosebumps away before pulling her shirt up.

“ _Now_ start,” The Turian motioned to Ryder courteously. 

The omnitool flared strongly, trapping Ryder in a moment of numb confusion. They weren’t going to give her a script. She doubted it was meant to flatter her. Perhaps it was the conviction in their cause, or that they suspected Ryder had been considering these changes herself. It might be the simple knowledge that if she failed, The Turian would keep them until he was satisfied, withholding food and limiting their water and warmth. Ryder had to sell the deal either way.

Staring into the flickering omnitool lens, Ryder leaned back in her seat and got as comfortable as she could. A smile wouldn’t fool anyone, but Ryder concealed a tremor by licking her lips and wiping her mouth before she started.

“This is Pathfinder Jaime Ryder. Scott and I are unharmed, and being kept by exiles on the planet Kadara. I’ve been asked to initiate negotiations for our return,” Ryder imagined submitting a report to Tann or request to Evfra while the Turian swung to show Scott. 

“We’ve been given medigel, and food, and water,” Scott reported dutifully without prompting and stopped when the Turian flicked his claw. Scott grit his teeth at Jaime in a mocking smile just after The Turian swiveled away and just before the salarian pinched him.

Ryder needed to make this calm, logical, and defensible to politicians, Pathfinders, and her crew alike. Naturally squaring her shoulders for a presentation, Ryder nearly crossed her arms, but quickly leaned on her elbows and laced her hands in front of her chest instead. The Turian met her eyes over the omnitool and nodded approvingly. Ryder let herself speak slowly, measuring her words before they erupted and derailed.

“There are three predominant demands,” Ryder left room for flexibility. Taking a breath slowly, Ryder heard her voice strengthen as she talked. “The first is amending the emigration limitations. We came to Kadara to reestablish a relationship with our people. The conflict, the battle, aboard the Nexus is a tragedy, but mistakes on the part of Nexus officials have to be acknowledged in order to move forward, just as the Initiative and the krogan have moved forward. The citizens here helped the Initiative secure Meridian. It’s ineffective, it’s unjust, to use them and then deny them an equal chance at what they fought for.”

“Second, the background criteria will have to be reconsidered,” Ryder saw The Turian stiffen with disapproval. “They are inherently prejudicial against exiles. They are not asking for no restraints- once on Meridian former exiles would be held to the same laws and standards as other Initiative citizens. But the exiles have served a severe sentence on Kadara regardless of their individual actions during the riot, and the measures necessary to survive here should not comprehensively condemn them.”

“Finally,” Ryder realized she had stopped faking conviction. “It’s time to begin preparations for a council on Kadara. We all came to Heleus expecting opportunities under a new council, not a dictatorship. The common people of Kadara, Initiative and angara alike, deserve to have their _own_ voice heard in Heleus, the same as any other Initiative citizen. ”

“These terms will have to be legally ratified before Scott and I are exchanged,” Ryder felt The Turian swell with displeasure, but he didn’t stop her. “We…”

It was almost right. The terms were clear and Ryder had put enough reason behind them to hopefully sway Avitus, Sarissa, and Kandros into agreeing. The mention of the krogan was a gamble.Kesh could take the reference as sympathetic or as an unwelcome comparison, but Ryder hoped Drack could balance out the delivery. It was straightforward and professional, for the politicians.

Tucking a trailing hair behind her ear to hide another tremor, Ryder admitted with a tired smile, “We can’t go back from this. Kadara has to be part of the Initiative again- not an annex or a pirate port, but a real colony with the same opportunities. We always knew we had more work to do in Heleus, and if we make these changes now…Scott and I can come home.”

Before Ryder could hope to add anything else, the omnitool snapped off. As she started to freely shiver, Ryder’s personal conviction crumbled. Ryder wiped her face to hide behind her hands. In the last lines of the speech, Ryder had almost felt anticipation for the changes, without thinking of her personal freedom. But this was wrong. The Initiative should have reached this milestone on their own, not under duress. Even if the changes stuck in a warped victory, Tann and Addison would never forgive this coup, and Kesh and Kandros would be hard pressed to try. What the rest of the Initiative would think…Ryder swallowed down the bile starting to burn her throat.

“Is that enough?” Scott asked loudly opposite her. “Is that what you wanted?”

The Turian sighed roughly, playing the video back without replying. Ryder’s voice, strange enough to her ear, echoed back flat and deliberate throughout the room. It was more than a report or a plea, it had turned into a genuine attempt at reason. The last sentences were softer, just above shaking before the Turian ended the speech. Scott tossed back her shirt as the video ended, letting Ryder hide behind pulling it on.

“It’s an acceptable first proposition,” The Turian admitted. “If the Initiative could be trusted to continue the process without being forced.”

“The changes were already being considered,” Ryder reminded.

“And dismissed.”

“Temporarily,” Ryder admitted. “But we were making progress.”

“At the Nexus’ pace. At their convenience. The same as always.”

“We tried-“

“And now, it will actually be _done_ ,” The Turian curtly informed.

Ryder accepted that truth as The Turian motioned for her to rise and left her with the Smaller Turian while he led the way. The Smaller Turian held up the bag, slipping it over Ryder’s head and taking hold of her arms. The walk back to the cells was easier. The Smaller Turian readily hoisted Ryder down steps and steadied her on inclines without yanking. Ryder heard Scott swear before he stumbled into them trying to catch himself from a high step the salarian had dropped him down. Whatever the reason for the Smaller Turians decency, Ryder was grateful. She was too tired to waste energy debating the motive.

The familiar grate of the door made Ryder drag her feet, even after The Smaller Turian had tightened his grip and practically lifted her off the ground to force her forward. Ryder’s heart started hammering when the bag came off and she saw Egeria and Tejna. 

The female turian was still kneeling, propping Tejna against her knee and massaging the angara’s hands. The medigel pack lay discarded and Egeria’s face had stopped bleeding, but Tejna was slumped and unresponsive, even as the Ryders were thrown into their cell and the door squealed shut. Cole was awake and watching Egeria in silence from safety at the opposite end of the cell. Scott followed Ryder to the joining bars by Cole to study Tejna in desperation.

_SAM…what can we do?_ Ryder waited for Tejna to at least groan or swat Egeria away.

_I am unsure, Pathfinder, I cannot scan for vitals,_ SAM admitted softly. _The angara may have entered a comatose state._

“The medigel didn’t work?” Scott whispered.

“It’d be a waste on her,” Cole mumbled up to them bitterly. “She’s not hurt, she’s just dying.”

Cole made it sound like a personal failure on Tejna’s part, but the exile’s eyes were following The Turian with a fresh blaze of hostility, and Cole was tugging at his unraveling bandage feverishly. Egeria didn’t start when the door to their cell opened, resolutely working on Tejna’s hands and jiggling her leg to shake the angara.

“Is she up?” The Turian watched over Egeria’s shoulder.

Egeria ignored the rhetorical question. The Turian leaned down, poking Tejna’s shoulder experimentally, hard enough to tip her away from Egeria’s grasp.

“She was awake,” Egeria sounded convinced and Cole cocked a contradicting eyebrow. “I let her sleep until you got back.”

“She’s not up,” The Turian noted.

“She needs time to wake up again,” Egeria insisted. “And I need something other than medigel, it doesn’t work for her.”

The Turian sighed, leaving Egeria to prod Tejna as he strolled around the cell. Cole tucked his bad hand out of sight when the Turian drifted to a stop in front of him,

“How’s the hand, Cole?”The Turian asked conversationally.

“I still have the fingers I need,” Cole scratched his neck with his good hand carelessly, his middle finger creeping forward in the shadow of his chin. “Don’t have as many nails to trim.”

The Turian reached down, twisting Cole’s bad hand out into the open and ignoring Cole’s offended squawk. The light showed that the knots of scar tissue over the knuckles and the severed pinky joint were covered with skin without weeping. 

“Another touch of medigel’ll finish it,” The Turian declared and dropped the hand onto Cole’s chest carelessly. “Is she up yet?”

“Almost,” Egeria thumped her leg strongly to make Tejna move.

Grumbling and stretching his neck irritably, the Turian returned to Egeria. Egeria sensed him without looking, quieting her movements and trying to pull Tejna up as she stood.

“I think that’s enough,” The Turian reached over Egeria’s arm and lifted it off of Tejna’s shoulders.

Everyone in the room watched motionlessly as Tejna spilled to the floor. Ryder willed Tejna to move, searching her memory for anything Jaal, Evfra, or the Moshae had told her that might suddenly cure “going dark.” Tapping his foot for an agonizing ten seconds while Tejna stayed down, the Turian finally drew his sidearm. 

“Hey!” Scott shouted. “She’s _breathing_ , you fu-“

“Wait,” Ryder protested. “Wait, now that you’ve set the terms, you can let-“

The Turian pulled the trigger over the protests. Blue blood sprayed up across his helmet and Egeria’s face. Ryder retched and barely caught a surge of vomit in her mouth. Somehow, she still felt a bolt of shock at The Turian’s cruelty. It would have been simple to get Tejna the sunlight she needed. The anger quickly turned on herself, standing as a useless audience to the murder. Scott’s curse ended in a garbled hiss. Egeria didn’t flinch and Cole merely hugged his hand more securely. 

“Take that out,” The Turian ordered the salarian and Smaller Turian as he holstered his weapon.

“You didn’t have to kill her,” Ryder growled. Tejna had still been alive, and The Turian was already reducing her to an “it” that inconvenienced him. 

“She was dead already, there was no point keeping her and wasting supplies,” The Turian corrected. Gesturing to Egeria and Cole, The Turian clarified, “I don’t _have_ to keep them. But you’ve convinced me.”

The Turian radiated smugness and tilted his head at Ryder meaningfully. Ryder could still feel Cole’s bone cracking under the knife before the finger dropped to soak in his own blood. She sensed Cole glaring at her without having to look down. The Turian was still letting his plan evolve, keeping Cole and Egeria for his own amusement or an incentive for Ryder to cooperate.

Egeria hadn’t moved from her place over Tejna, finally stepping away as the salarian dragged Tejna away. Egeria’s face was blank, devoid of anger, shock, or sadness as Tejna’s body disappeared out the door behind the salarian dragging it. Ryder could hear Scott grinding his teeth beside her, staring at the carnage left from Tejna’s body and shaking with anger. Ryder shared his disgust; this was abhorrent, even by Kadara's skewed standards.

“Oh,” The Turian stopped at the Smaller Turian as an afterthought. Pointing at the Ryders, The Turian declared, “Feed them.”

Trusting his words to be obeyed, The Turian followed the smear of Tejna’s blood trail toward the door. Ryder’s biotics kicked under the surface, dangerously close to exploding as she imagined crushing The Turian in a field and launching his body into orbit.

_Pathfinder, I suggest you reconsidered this strategy_ , SAM warned.

_I know, SAM_ , Ryder squashed the crackling impulse down. _Just let me dream, for now._


End file.
